my lizard.

Yesterday I went to the grocery store. Although I try to ignore public places whilst in a mucus oozing state the cat ran out of food and I ran out of cold medication. I managed to canoodle Super J into accompanying me with pleas that he push my cart, in exchange for admiration, he went. (I did however end up pushing my own cart.) Ok, so it wasn't that graceful, it was more of a "sniff, sniff, please come with me." I felt lucky because he's sick too and neither of us wanted to be out.

When I was pushing my cart trying to secure each item on my list, I couldn't help but notice how healthy everyone looked. There was one gal in particular who was there in running shorts and what appeared to be a yoga top. The shorts were up to here, but boy was she glowing. My green eyed monster peeked to the surface and I wanted to cry but I was afraid that I'd go through another box of tissue and who needs that?

I felt miserable. I am not a good sick person. For example, today I went to work and felt I had to apologize my way through each sneeze and sniffle because I felt like I had a sign hanging overhead that said, "contaminated."

But it's more than the jealously. I want to feel vibrant. I want to feel like I've been doing more than exercising my noodle trying to figure out whether my latest case is really substance induced psychosis and not just flat insane. I want to run. The other day at a meeting someone asked if I had ran in the Rock and Jock marathon. I wanted to say, "yes as a matter of fact-I did." But I mumbled, "no." And felt I had to tell him why. I had to tell him that I took my little brother ice skating. I had to tell him that I was doing great, even though a five year old schooled me with his little swirly skating backwards ass. But I ate it. I totally ate it and I had to laugh at myself knowing that it was probably a bad idea that I was on ice but I did it anyway.

Since then I've been having back problems again. And much as I try to pretend it's all ok; there is something very wrong with being 25 and not being able to sleep through the night.

When did I join the injured sick class?

And even though I'm usually pretty good at being empathetic--I am tired of hearing my little voice inside say, "I wish?"

Though I am enjoying my 8 extra pounds, I am not enjoying watching everyone run past me. I'm trying to chalk it up to 'life's way of teaching me patience' but I'm completely not buying that idea. I never was good at interpreting; the superb news is I start my writing class on Monday.

posted by Danna Saunders @ 1/21/2005 06:10:00 PM