A Starving Artist as a Slug.

Another thing to know about me:  I am horrendously bad at being sick.

It doesn't happen all that often so, when it does, whatever the ailment, my body feels like it's been hit by a Mack truck.  Seven times.  With the driver pointing and laughing at me, calling out "Take THAT!  And THAT, Sucka!!!  AH hahahahahahahahahaaaaa!!!!"

It.  Is.  Awful.

Further awful:  it forces me to be absolutely sedentary.

...

...This absolutely 100% goes against my nature, both as a person and CERTAINLY as a Starving Artist.  I mean, are you kidding me?!  We're supposed to be running around all the goddamn time like crazy people seeking out opportunities for ourselves.  Endlessly.  Right?  AM I RIGHT?!?!...

Hence, when I can't, when I am forced into absolutely not doing any of that stuff under any circumstances, after resting and relaxing for about 2-3 hours, I panic.  I panic, and start to contemplate all of the things that I maybe could get away with doing.

Because, I mean, why sit still?  (Because you're sick.)  Why not take advantage of this free day instead of just wasting time, like you're doing right now, because you're totally wasting time!  (Except that you're not, because you're totally sick.)  Why be lazy when there is so much stuff to do?!  All the time!!!  "Lazy" is a trap that one should never fall into, so beware.  BEWARE!  (Well, I am Bewaring, and will continue to do so.  But, I'm sick.  So.  There's a difference.  A big one.)

This schizophrenic talk?  I've been having it with myself non-stop for the past two days.

Am I aware that I really need to just calm the eff down? Yeah.  For sure.  Absolutely.  But, I have never been good at not doing stuff and, for as long as I can remember, feel guilty when days like this happen to me.

So, between chugging glasses of OJ and napping like a turd, I've been daydreaming up Could Do-lists for myself:  as in "All of the Things That I Could Do if I Weren't Feeling Bed-Ridden".  By and large, the list is comprised of totally unrealistic things that I would never think to do or have a means of doing in every day life, but, when I'm sick, I feel like those are the things that I should be doing first.  ...Because being sick apparently makes me ever so slightly cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs.  It's fine.  I'll fess up to it.

The list....

WHY AM I NOT:
--patching those pants
--Crock-Potting a soup...or braising something
--at the gym (... ... ...)
--learning a new monologue
--going through my 2011-receipts for my taxes
--reupholstering/restaining that bench in the hallway
--painting that cabinet in the bathroom
--going for a run (... ... ...)
--at a museum
--finding an audition to go to
--signing up for voice lessons
--signing up for pottery classes
--going to buy every memoir of every contemporary humorist right now
--going to buy a pair of black heels (...I mean, I need some.  Right?)
--teaching myself the art of Sudoku
--teaching myself the art of Chess
--teaching myself the wonders of online poker (That's the worst idea ever.  No.  Way.)
--buying 30 lottery tickets
--...60 of them.
--teaching myself Spanish with that Rosetta Stone-like program we got...forever ago.
-building...something.
--teaching myself how to knit
--at a double-feature, because I should seriously take myself to the movies more
--at a Bikram-class, because quite maybe potentially I'd sweat out this feeling of "bed-riddenness" (...)
--dyeing my hair...because what if I went red-headed again and don't I deserve to feel cute in this time of utter absolute "gross"?!  Don't I?!
--learning how to make my own yogurt
--drunk.

Ladies and gentlemen, behold what I've wrestled with for the past 48 hours--betwixt hacking up a lung, blowing through an entire box of Kleenex, and passing out on my couch watching mindless television.  (Mindless television,  PS, is never nearly as satisfying when you're sick.  Why the hell is that?)

Sweet boyfriend is currently crewwing a show that is in the middle of teching, and so we knew we were going to have to spend Valentine's Day apart (yet again).  He called at about 12:30am once he got out of rehearsal last night.

"Hey there, Sickie."
(Croak)Valluhtyyye!
"Oh.  My goodness.  Go to sleep."
Doh.
"Honeyyyy..."
Doh!  Havenn taw to you...aw day.  
"Honey.  You need your rest."
Bin resteed!  Gah SO buch sleep!
"Sick girls need more sleep."
Z'dumm.
"No it's not.  It's smart, you need to get better."
Doh.  I'm fined.  Ah should...vaccooob.  Wahdurrproof my boots.
"Nooooo.  How 'bout you sleep."
Valluhtyyyyyye...
"Sleep, Honey.  Get some actual rest.  You never do."
...Hay dit.

And I DO hate it!  I feel like such a lump and as if I'm missing out on a zillion possible things that I could and should be doing.  A zillion possible things that could and should put me ahead.

The Starving Artist should never not be doing anything; the day that they sit back is the day that they will have missed out on it.  ...Or so we're led to believe.

But.  Maybe not.

Maybe the world can wait for me today. 

...Or maybe I'll quietly nurse myself back to health, and shellack our coffee table.