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I am sick.

Sick, miserable. Blah. My head feels like it weights 17 pounds, my eyes won't focus and I can't breathe through my right nostril. And there's the cough. What I need is sweatpants, an electric blanket. Some green tea. NyQuil. And back-to-back episodes of Law & Order: SVU.

What I have? Work. I'm at work. And The Fiance is out of town. And last night, before bed, as I sprawled (not really) dying upon the thick, down comforter, gasping for NyQuil with my final breaths, do you know what he said? Do you know? What he SAID?

"Go to the store."

Hello, hi, this is me, aghast. Me? Go to the store? At 9:30 p.m.? When I'm SICK, and YOU are supposed to be coddling me and checking to see if I have a fever? Scoff.

So I didn't get NyQuil. And he's out of town. And I'm at work. And I'm taking care of myself. And I really just needed to pout about it because it's what I do. And I hate being sick. And more than I hate being sick, I hate being alone when I'm sick. Sigh.

Just wait 'til HE is sick.