1999 february 03

pathetic

i am sick.

i'd say i was sick as a dog, but any self respecting canine would fling himself headlong into traffic and end the misery. having no such self respect, i'm just sitting in the chair, bundled up in a blanket, quietly whimpering and whining. okay, not so quietly.

gene has been a sweetheart, as usual. yesterday he made chicken soup from scratch. it was wonderful, full of carrots and celery and potatoes. it really did make me feel better and not just because he cares enough to go to all the trouble and mess of cooking for me when i am feeling so poorly. i wish i knew what it was about chicken soup that actually does ease the discomfort of a cold or flu because whoever finally figures it out is going to make a mint.

i have somehow made myself believe i wouldn't feel nearly so ill if i were fabulously wealthy.

he just made me a steaming mug of hot chocolate. isn't he an angel? and he is telling me to get off this infernal machine and back into bed so i will be the good patient and do as he prescribes.

giving thanks for kleenex with lotion and her perfect boyfriend, claire