I like sleep. It is peaceful and pleasant and, you know, dreamy in ways that real life isn’t.
When I am so sick I cannot sleep, I am unhappy. Which is how I currently find myself. Throat and sinuses so sore, and I can’t get rid of the pain, no matter how I try. I spent more than five minutes trying to open the night-time cough medicine, weak and sick and frustrated that I couldn’t open the bottle and banish my pain. Imagine my disappointment when I finally did open it and six hours later I was still wide awake after tossing fitfully in bed, reading, tossing some more, watching TV, tossing, reading and then blogging.
I am reminded of being sick as a child, my throat burning in a similar way, sitting on the couch in the middle of the night and blearily watching the clock on the VCR, hoping dad would come home soon so I could tell him how sick I was and he would know what to do. I didn’t want to wake mom, and he worked nights anyway. I feel like that sick little girl on the couch again, waiting for better health to come home soon.
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