There Are Days I'm Best Left Alone

So I've been sickly the last couple of days. That pretty much covers my absence here in the world of blogging.

Unlike the stereotype of a sick male, I don't whine about it.

(Not that I don't want to though. It just doesn't do me any good to whine to myself. I don't have a wife or significant other to harass and complain to. Whining to myself seems a bit pointless, because I'm too busy feeling sickly to feel sorry for myself.)

What I do want, when I'm sick, is to be left alone as much as possible. I'm really not that cheerful under normal circumstances, much less when 'illen.

Vomiting as much as I have the last couple of days hasn't been pleasant. Since my stomach was empty for the most part I think I brought my toes up. On a positive note, if I have, there's no more pesky toe nails to be clipped again.

(On a negative note, if I've lost my toes, my feet will appear to have shrunk a bit.

Naturally I'm sure the people who associate shoe size with schlong size will be pointing at me and snickering.

That may be a bit of a kick in the ego's ass.

Of course I'll just stuff my rather large shoes with Kleenex if my toes are missing.

Hey, don't judge me, if you women can fake orgasms I can fake my shoe size.)

I think I'm possibly nicer to customers at work when I'm sick. No that's not quite right, I just seem to be nicer. When I'm sick it clouds my judgement somewhat, so when a customer pisses me off I let a fleeting thought skitter across my mind that maybe, just maybe, they're not as annoying as my sickly mind thinks they are. So many of them get a pass that a not 'illen JPT probably wouldn't let slide.

I also wanted to get them out of the store as quickly as possible because I had vomiting to attend to. Nothing ruins a sale quite like vomiting on a customer's shoes. Plus I'd have to kill them when they'd refuse to clean it up. I'm sure they wouldn't see the logic that it was their fault for simply bothering me when I'm sick and don't want to deal with them. I, on the other hand, see this with much clarity and conviction.

(Then there's that whole prison thing if you kill someone. I'm thinking I wouldn't like that much. I'd have to walk down hallways with my ass firmly planted against a wall for fear of being violated in a most unpleasant way.

Who needs that worry in their life?)

I just smoked my first cigarette since Monday night. I'm sure there are people who would think that's a good thing. I really don't like them people much.

But this not smoking thing was noticed pretty early in the day on Tuesday. Pretty Vietnamese Lady noticed before noon that I hadn't passed by their business on my usual schedule to go outside to smoke. So she decided to investigate.

She popped into the store and took one look at me and decided I needed soup, much to my horror. As sweet as she is, her soup is not what I needed. But there was no sense in fighting it. Her desire to feed me isn't something I even contemplate denying her any more. Even as sick as I felt I was smart enough to keep my mouth shut.

So Wednesday rolls around and she appears in the store with several containers which comprised of soup for the dying and sickly. I now have six bowls sitting in my refrigerator comprising of soup, with warming up and mixing instructions that a rocket scientist would be baffled over. Since I am eating today I just looked these bowls over. I mean right at this minute I was looking at them. Then I opted to call Pizza Hut and order a pizza.

I'm going to have to trust that this will be our little secret folks. Should any of you think about ratting me out to the Pretty Vietnamese Lady, I'll hunt you down, and vomit on your shoes. Or worse, make you eat the soup.

So I'm feeling better today. Thanks to all who commented on my last anemic post. You guys are pretty cool, and stuff.