Like Crap On Toast

I hate being sick. It's like, here's this body that you know because you've only been stuck with it for twenty some years...and it just gives out, going haywire with headaches and nausea and dizziness...and I'm just so disappointed in it and myself, which I suppose is the same thing in some respects. I feel so guilty and lonely being sick...I think it stems back to when I was a child and I'd stay home from school and I would just stand by the window and watch the bus come gather the other, healthy children, and without hesitation, the bus would just depart without me. I hated that feeling...not so much as an afterthought. 'Where's Amanda?'...'Who??'

I don't get sick often, and even when I do, I hate allowing it to effect my life...I want to go to work, I want to get up and continue the same mundane tasks that I undoubtedly completed the day before...I don't like being holed up in bed, as much as I consider sleep a really awesome hobby, twelve hours is really pushing it.

Yesterday, I actually got sick at work...that was new for me. I was serving tables, holding my breath, just hoping that I wouldn't just puke all over everybody...and they're smoking or eating crab or taking forever and a day ordering a GD glass of wine I could've cried. Finally, I ran to the bathroom, delirious and disgusted. When I came out, I felt considerably better...but apparently, once you get physically sick, staying at work is an appalling thought to all your co-workers...so I left. I really can't afford to be leaving early like that...and even though I feel much worse today, I'm gonna go in anyways...maybe if they didn't dock you for calling in sick...maybe if I didn't rely so tremendously on my tips...maybe if I didn't feel so guilty for staying in bed all day...maybe if this headache would just go away...maybe then...