I stayed home sick today.
And unlike little Peggy Ann Mackay, it doesn’t matter what day of the week it is. Saturday, Tuesday, Friday– there’s no going to school or work for me with the way I’m feeling. Nope. Not happening. It started last week with a sore throat and then worked its way up to a full blasted CANNOT-GO-IN-THIS-COLD-IS-CRAZY-RIDICULOUS-MUST-STAY-HOME-AND-VEG thing. So I did. And it was much needed. But I still had time to write. Because there’s always time to write.
Which I do, every time I get sick. Because no matter how bad it is, I’m never as sick as little Peggy Ann Mackay. Wondering who she is, eh? Well you should get your Shell Silverstein education on because our dear friend little Peggy is QUITE the hypochondriac. Everything, and I mean EVERYTHING is wrong with this little weirdo. She’s got the measles and the mumps and, if I’m remembering correctly, a gash, a rash and purple bumps. Yikes. Not sure I want to know what caused purple bumps but I can safely assure you that I don’t have those.
Seriously, if you’ve never read Sick or any of the *fabulous* poems by Shell Silverstein, I HIGHLY suggest you get on that. I’d start with my personal favorite Where the Sidewalk Ends but grab whatever tickles your fancy. Hell, even give The Giving Tree a try. Expose yourself to Shell Silverstein. Do it. I dare you. And when you’re done, you can come back here and thank me. I’ll be waiting.
I cannot go to work today.
I’m sick and old and feeling gray.
I have the coughs and sneezes too.
A bad headache—could be the flu.
My throat is sore, my head feels foggy.
I’m shuffling around just like a zombie.
I’m tired and sleepy and need to nap.
Fuck being sick. It feels like crap.
But at least I don’t have purple bumps.
Take that, Peggy Ann Mackay.