I’m still fucking sick. It’s probably the same damn crap I’ve had since the Super Genius’s wedding. I just can’t shake it.
Mainly, I can’t breathe and it’s making me grouchy and it’s negatively affecting my time with Mrs. Wigglebottom because I don’t have any energy, because I can’t breathe, and so I haven’t been taking her for walks like I should, because I can’t breathe, and I’m at the point where I suspect that a long walk, no matter how slow, might do me some good, but I feel so crappy that I’d rather not.
Still, I keep telling myself that I feel better now than I did. I’ve been leaving that time I felt worse vague and undefined so that I don’t have to face up to how long I’ve just been feeling kind of crappy.
Because sitting down and admitting to myself that I’ve felt like crap for a month and that I’ve been on and off sick since last fall begs the question, why don’t I go to the doctor?
America, I’m going to be honest with you. I would rather be sick than go to the doctor.
I’ll give you three guesses why and the first two don’t count.
I’m sick. From the feel of it, I might have a little bronchitis. I read what’s going on in the Nashville blogosphere–a lot of people have had a touch of the crud all spring.
But if I go into the doctor, it’s going to turn into some giant lecture about how fat I am. I know this because every trip to the doctor, my whole damn life, has been a lecture about how fat I am.
Yes, from the time I was old enough to be lectured to about being fat, I have, indeed, been lectured to about being fat. I get it. It’s unhealthy; it’s gross; I’m going to die early; no one will ever love me. Every weight I’ve ever weighed has brought me that lecture.
I get it. I suck. I’m not trying hard enough. Don’t I understand the health risks, etc. etc. etc.
Yes. I am not stupid. I have heard you from the time I weighed 50 pounds until now.
And yes, I am being stupid, but god damn it. I’m just sick. I just need some antibiotics and something to loosen up whatever’s sitting in my chest. I don’t need the lecture about how I’m a failure as a person and as a woman that goes with me showing up in your office.
So, I’m not going.
I am thinking about hanging out near the hospital and mugging pharmaceutical reps, though.