shoo flu, don't bother me.

The flu won this week.

Five whole days of fevered bliss.

Yes, bliss. No, not fever blisters. That would be rather Job-esque.

When I was little---

ok, I was like 15. There are you happy? Now you really know that I'm a freak---

I thought I had a fever every day. I truly believed that I was coming down with something or another, and that I needed to go to the hospital, the doctor, whatever the case would be to keep me home and away from school. My freshman year of high school I hated school. I was awkward, an outcast, depressed, too skinny (hah. what a problem to have had) and I thought that my life would be forever bettered by one of two things happening:

1) being home-schooled

2) being home sick from school

They wouldn't budge on the homeschooling thing (bless them.) so I yearned for illness.

Anyways. I got over the I-Hate-High School phase. And the Will-You-Check-My-Temperature-Everyday phase.

But this week, all of my sick twisted dreams came true:

I'm talking about a legitimate 100 degree fahrenheit fever that meant that my dad would not be able to kiss my four head and say in a way that I found so grating on my tweenaged over sensitive hypochondriac nerves,

"Cool as a cucumber!"

Aha! Finally! I won against the thermometer that insists that my temperature is merely 96.8, far lower than even the normal temperature. I finally got the bragging rights to thrust my forehead towards my Dad's pursed lips and scream, "Kiss this! I am one sick baby!"

Except I was stuck at school. And my Dad was stuck at home.

Oh. The. Irony.

Is that irony? Or just life?

Funny how when you're actually sick, all you want is your mom or dad to tuck you into bed and kiss your forehead and acknowledge that you truly are the most miserable pitiful most precious baby in the world. Durn the injustice of the flu and all of it's treacheries!

After a rousing round of antibiotics, I'm on the mend.

Although I still would like my Dad to kiss my forehead and tuck me in.