I Pity My Pallbearers

Dear Cold/Flu/Black Plague,
What have I ever done to you? Why do you sabotage my plans for self improvement with your headaches and congestion and sore throat? I've been pretty good about staying on track with eating better and going to the gym. I've even made more than a halfhearted attempt at folding laundry. Despite my good intentions, I'm now sidetracked by this disgusting bug. Whats the big idea?
Sincerely,
Miserable Me

I think there's some kind of stereotype that women are better at being sick because they are more concerned with everyone else's well-being than their own. Men are the ones who apparently will slap a band-aid on a severed limb but will be reduced to a whimpering pitiful mess at the first sign of a cold. Yet here I am, a girl with an overactive nurturing gland and more maternal instincts than you can shake a rattle at, ignoring everything and everyone around me in lieu of crawling under the covers and waiting for death to come. Let me be revolutionary enough to break through these stereotypes by curling up in the fetal position and feeling sorry for myself while overdosing on cough drops.  I'm here for equality people.

So here I sit, feeling like there is an enlarged slug lodged in the back of my throat, burning a raw, slimy path its way down my esophagus. My cough is that delightful mixture of phlegm and more phlegm, and when I can speak in anything above a hoarse whisper, I sound like a gruff mobster with a 3 pack a day smoking habit. It's damn sexy, and accompanied with sweat pants two sizes too big, greasy hair, and used tissues piling up on either side, I am every man's wet dream. Take it all in boys, it doesn't get any better than this.

Even my dog has run from me.

Last night, as I was convincing myself that death was near, I had the morbid and inappropriate (not to mention overly dramatic) thought that if I perished from this, I would be burdening my loved ones with the deed of being pallbearers for someone who is not exactly in the best possible shape. While I do not for a moment lack faith in their upper body strength or ability to walk in unison, I don't want my legacy to be 6 identical hernias. The beads of sweat from exertion should not replace the tears of anguished mourning that I would expect should anything happen to me. I don't want anyone to pity my pallbearers so from now until it is my time to go, I need to get my body in tip top casket shape. Somewhere along the way, I would also like to reap the benefits of positive body image and good health, but right now, I can't imagine getting out of this cycle of sweats and self pity.) 

I am so determined to get back on track, and cannot wait to feel relatively human again. It's only been 24 hours, but I have watched more TV and scrolled through enough YouTube videos to last me a
month. (Side note: I am all caught up on Boy Meets World reruns and regret nothing). My goal is to self medicate this bug out of my system in the next few days so I can get back (and/or start) my routine. Since I've been sipping out of my Robitussin bottle like a cocktail, I'm well on my to either a cough syrup addiction or a full recovery.

So wish me luck that this thing passes quickly, or at least takes me painlessly. Is it too late for a flu shot?