Nothing trips me up more than a day spent in bed with a cold. I indulge generously in self-pity. I immerse myself in it. Usually, I have a stock of cheesy gay romantic comedies lined up for the day. Boy meets boy (or boy meats boy) - boy likes boy - boys encounter obstacle - there is a montage with boys living separately and miserably - the obstacle is overcome - they kiss - I cry. Rinse, repeat. Alas, today I don’t have Netflix or Hulu so there are no gayromcoms for me.
Sometimes I daydream about all my loves. The one who I still love, the one who broke my heart, the boy I texted a (unrequited) smiley the other day, the straight crush who should really stop wearing impossibly tight pants if he wants to stop breaking gay hearts.... I imagine each of them cooking up a big pot of soup and rubbing Vicks Vaporub into my back and chest. Nothing says love more than food and an unsexy back-rub in a darkened, snot-layered, hotbox of germs.
Then there is the sick-texting. I should really rip out my battery and bury it somewhere. Sick-texting is worse than drunk-texting. It happens during the day, so you cant send the default "Jst saw the crzy txts I sent last nite. Soz. Wuz sooo drunk! Lolz, xx K". No. How do you undo the "Hey, how you doing? Was just thinking about you!" sent to the guy who is going to read it as "Hey, even though I basically lost your number and have been real shady after our really awkward date a few months ago, I have just realized that I want you and I want to birth your progeny"?
Of course, I will sick-text the guy who didn't return my cute and suggestive smiley. And he will say something sweet - maybe offer (but only in the hypothetical) to cook soup for me. I will swoon. Then I will take more drugs and sleep my sanity back.
Just like high-school . Except, I never had access to good cold medication back then. It does get better.
