I don’t get sick often. At all. So I am blaming this last year of illness on Boyfriend. I'm being serious. I had nearly perfect attendance all through high school, as well as freshman, sophomore, and junior years at GVSU. I was untouched by the taint of disease, and I got to laugh at everyone when they got the flu, and then I would drive them to the Urgent Care and offer them crackers. That's what friends do.
Until I got a boyfriend. I knew I should have stuck with my premise that boys have cooties, but he tricked me with his James Bond charm. And then, like an evil mastermind, got me sick all the time while never actually getting sick himself. What a goober.
Boyfriend still contends that my sudden onslaught of illness was not his fault. But, he is the only variable, so scientifically it is his fault. Also, it is because I say so, and last week I tricked him into agreeing that everything I say is right.
Never did I have to have someone drive me to urgent care before. Such a thing was unheard of. But, this year, I was driven to urgent care by either Boyfriend, Melania, or Jessica on four separate occasions. I caught everything, even the possibility of breast cancer. Seriously, they thought I had it. I got an ultrasound and everything, luckily it was just a cyst. Probably triggered by the fact I had been non-stop sick for 6 months. Or the stress of senior year. Or the stress of thinking I have cancer (stupid body). One of those things.
Anyway, my senior year I had strep, a sinus infection, the swine flu and cysts. Not to mention a near constant cold. I’m surprised I have friends left, I hated being around me, I cant imagine why they would have wanted to. I was basically an unpleasant mass on the couch that made ‘snorfle’ sounds into tissues all winter, along with occasionally hacking up god knows what.
No one likes people who cough stuff up. Especially me. Spitting out my own toothpaste makes me nauseous, I have to leave the water on so it goes away ASAP or I will seriously consider gagging in the sink and never brushing my teeth again. Coughing out unsterilized blogs of ick is even worse.
I bring this up because I woke up today with the pressing need to vomit like the girl on the Exorcist. So I did. And then I did it again. And again. And again.
Of course, this illness makes perfect sense because I hang out with… my mom, and well… I go nowhere? Nowhere. Why am I sick? Unless the Perfectly Normal Man, sensing that I am onto his shenanigans, is trying to possess me there is no good reason for this.
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