Sunday, January 31, 2010

Love Sick...

So as I already mentioned one of the best things ever was the three weeks that I got to spend with my sweety around the holidays. It was truly awesome and totally yay.

I got sick.

(wait, you got sick and yet it was awesome? I’m confused.)

Dear Confused:

Yes, the time together was awesome and yes, I got sick. Now big chunks of the time I was NOT sick and those times were very awesome. There were movies seen and games played and family and friends introduced to and all these were good things. Awesome things. And if this was the whole visit I’d stand by my “was awesome” stance with confidence. But it was even better than that, BECAUSE I got sick.

More than that, I got sick AND I did NOT kill him! Not at all! I killed no part of him, nor was I even tempted to do any him-killing!

Oh, but wait, it gets even better: he took CARE of me. While I was sick. And I didn’t kill him even more AND (this is the big part): I LET HIM TAKE CARE OF ME.

(even bigger part): I LIKED HIM TAKING CARE OF ME.

For any of you who have been reading for a long time you’ll remember that a couple of years ago I went on record on this site saying that I never be able to have someone in the house when I was sick, but instead would require anyone in the house to be… not in the house. Also known as ANYWHERE ELSE. This is something that I was truly sure was gospel, based on many things not the least of which was the fact that when I’ve been sick in the past I didn’t even want my MOM, the person who birthed me and who was my chief “Meh. I’m sick. Take care of me.” person growing up, to come look after me these days. So if you don’t want your Mom to take care of you how could it be that anyone else would do? Answer: it couldn’t. Hence ANYWHERE ELSE.

And yet there I was, lying beside my sweety in bed, feeling like if he really loved me he’d go ahead and kill me out of my own best interest, and yet loving that he was there for me to roll over and snuggle up next to. Loving those moments when he touched my head to see if I was hot or encouraged me to sleep some more or just generally looked over at me with the expression that could only say “Awww… how are you feeling, baby?” He took care of me and I absolutely loved it.

This morning I woke up with one of those headaches that reminds you how much easier life might be if you scooped your brains out with a melonballer. (of course I’m not much of a cook, and don’t like melon. So no melonballer in the house. Dang.) Lying on the couch, feeling pukey (both literally and figuratively), I found myself wishing so much that my guy were here to take care of me again. How crazy is that? Must be that “love” thing. I’m really going to need to get used to that.

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