For the past hour, I have been working on a lovely post about the beauty of friendship. But I have to stop. Because I am sick. I am sick with a terrible cold. My nose hurts. My body aches. My lips are dry and cracked. I am hot. Then I am cold. Then I am sad. Then I feel sorry for myself and I say, “Stop feeling sorry for yourself, Mary,” and then I say, “It’s too late!” and then I say, “Stop talking because it hurts the head.”
So I have to stop, now. I think it’s going to have to be good enough that I found a painting by Winslow Homer called, “The Sick Chicken.”
Do you remember the last time we talked about Winslow Homer? I had so much to say about this painting. Those were good times, weren’t they? I could breathe back then. I could run and jump and play. But no longer. Now, I shall perish on this couch, wads of snotty kleenex strewn all around, the remnants of my veggie burger drying out on the coffee table. Woe, woe!
In case you’re reading this aloud to your honey and need more material — I know for a fact that PaperGirl is read aloud at at least ten or so breakfast tables across this great nation — may I direct you to this entry (where my darling friend Heather got a sweet treat), or this one, when I loved the dog on the plane.
At least we have the memories. Goodbye, cruel world. Hello, heating pad. Hello, pillow. Hello, darkness…
[EDITOR’S NOTE: Mary’s fine. She does have a cold but she’ll be all right. Being dramatic about having post-nasal drip helps her get better more quickly. Trust me.]