Being Sick

When I’m sick in bed, all I want is a special someone to cuddle with me, bring me ginger ale,and tell me I look pretty even if I look like a hot mess.

However, because I’m a housewife without a fusband (faux husband) with me in Toronto, this was not the case today. Instead, I had to settle for him whispering comforting words to me via text message. It did the job (of course)  and also made me nostalgic to look at the photos I’ve taken while being sick, alone, in the past.I can’t help it if a camera entertains.

Today has been too nauseating to whip out the camera, but I’m never sick enough to reminisce:

 

 

The Essentials

 

 

Because you don't need to match when you're sick

 

 

Who could look at this messy face and not cheer up?
Reminds me that at least I can nurse myself back to health

This is my bird-whispering mother nursing an injured birdie back to health after it flew into our kitchen window. After 45 minutes of hand cuddling, it was ready to thrive and fly away. It’s the mother’s touch!

 

If I'm not stomach sick, a wine spritzer cures all. My little secret.

Notice Miss Holly Golightly on the television screen

Because “Breakfast At Tiffany’s” is my favorite sick movie

Whenever I’m sick, I think of Audrey Hepburn as Holly Golightly. Not because I’m a former country girl-turned-New York socialite (although one can feverishly dream), and not because I’m “just CRAZY about Tiffany’s” (though I am), but because she says this:

“You know those days when you get the mean reds?…The blues are because you’re getting fat and maybe it’s been raining too long, you’re just sad that’s all. The mean reds are horrible. Suddenly you’re afraid and you don’t know what you’re afraid of.”

One can sympathize. I have a case of the mean reds every single time I’m stuck in bed for longer than a day. I assume this is  because I’m afraid of missing out on something in the outside world, something a 20-something should be doing instead of wallowing in bed-ridden self-pity.

Even though the Toronto Tiffany store is scarily close, I don’t jump in a cab and treat it as my happy place. My happy place is still at home, with my camera, turning my disinfected tiny apartment into my real-life happy place that makes me feel like I’m at Tiffany’s. And that calms me down right away.

 

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