drag-ass and pathetic, anyone?

Today at 4 AM I awoke congested with a sore, scratchy throat. I suppose it was bound to happen. I’ve been around various sick folks (my son, my husband, a good friend, and my hostess for the weekend) and putting travel into the equation seals the deal.

At this early hour my husband hears me up and sick and offers to stay home. He is still getting over his illness – an achy, uncomfortable nausea both he and Nels shared over the weekend. Nels himself sleeps in until 10:30 before awaking. Rest, rest, rest. No sewing like I’d planned, or YMCA workout. Nothing done but holding down the fort, watching TV, reading, and maybe knitting.

Sometimes I don’t understand my family – meaning my FOO. This morning I notice that when I tell my parents I’m sick, they express no sympathy – only derision. My mom repeatedly asks why Ralph would stay home. She does not ask about my symptoms. My dad actually calls me a “puss” (I end the phone call, disinterested in this). It sounds callous and assy to write about their response here; but those of you with family know there is some way that family behavior seems “normal” when we live it and only seems rude or strange when it’s communicated to an outsider. Thinking about it, it bothers me. And I don’t understand it. I ask myself: how do I express myself when my family suffers? How do I wish to be treated when I suffer?

My immediate family and my pets are in more of an accord; loving, cuddling. Ralph offers to make coffee, tea, breakfast. I have some hot broth for breakfast, tea, coffee. A bath. My body aches, my head aches, and I feel chills. Time to go back to bed and maybe later, trying the third treatment:

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