Do Not Read This Post - It Was Written Under the Influence - Pay No Attention to the Monkey Behind the Curtain!

I have been remiss in my blogging efforts, but not without good reason. I have been horrendously ill and coughing up whatever is left of my lungs after smoking for as many years as I have. I began feeling badly this weekend, but was so sure that it was just merely an allergy attack that when Doc Harley suggested that perhaps I was ill, I confidently (read stubbornly) asserted that I knew my body better than he did and it was just allergies. That was Sunday morning. Monday morning, I was singing a different tune. Actually, that's a lie; Monday morning I was coughing a different tune...and the tune was pure misery.

Luckily, DH called to check on me Monday afternoon (I have no idea how he knew I'd be at home) and promptly insisted that I take antibiotics. "I think I can beat this." I sputtered in a feeble attempt to appear less sick than I actually was; DH was not fooled or swayed in the least. So off to the drugstore I trudged, and I ended up quite thankful for it. While it can be sometimes annoying to be dating a know it all doctor (as forget about winning any arguments), it can also be quite handy...especially if you are a ridiculously stubborn monkey who is quite prone to both illness and accidents. When I called to ask my mother if she could help pay for the antibiotics (I am already borrowing off the credit card this month for simple monthly expenses), she was astounded to hear that I was actually taking medicine before I was too sick to even move. I gave credit where it was due, and now my mother is of course enamored of DH, for that fact alone.

As if that weren't enough, he called again on Tuesday to see how I was doing and upon hearing that I was still quite ill he invited me over to his place so that he could take care of me. One of the worst things in the world about being sick is how utterly alone you feel, especially when laying around an apartment, well, completely alone (save the man hating cat, of course). So naturally all of my strong independent womyn rhetoric flew conveniently out the window, replaced by a resounding chorus of "Yes, please take care of me! Please oh please take care of me and stroke my brow and feed me soup and make me feel like I am not all alone in this world!" Thankfully the chorus heard in my feverish non-independent head alone.

But here's the deal, folks...I needed to not be independent. I needed to be lovingly taken care of. And that's okay. Why shouldn't I be? And does it make me less of a strong independent womyn? I don't think so. Perhaps it makes me a complete whiny baby when I'm sick, but I've known that for years.

You know what else? I enjoyed it. Yes, I enjoyed needing someone else and having them provide what I needed. I enjoyed admitting that I needed that.

I know, what the fuck is happening to me, right?

Today, as I'm struggling to make it through my hellacious day at the sdj, Doc Harley calls to see how I'm doing. This is no longer annoying, by the way, but something I actually look forward to; I know, how quickly my tune changes, huh? We talked for a bit about the trip we're taking to go to a friend's wedding this weekend and then he asked me how late I was working. I told him, and then he asked if I was going home to my apartment or to going to his place. First of all, I was really kind of tickled at the fact that he asked so nonchalantly, like of course going to his place was an option. Secondly, I really didn't want to go home and be sick and miserable in my own place tonight and was hoping he'd ask me to come over. So of course I didn't say I wanted to come over, I asked him what he'd rather do; he replied, "Of course I want you here, what do you want?"

He's making me homemade soup as I type this. I am so fucking spoiled, its unreal. Its like the dating twighlight zone after all the ummm, funny dating adventures I've had. I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop. The other night, for no apparent reason save extreme pms, I woke him up to tell him that if this was just sex he needed to tell me right now. We do tons of things together, enjoy eachothers company, have actual conversations, and yet I'm paranoid that its just sex? I don't think taking care of someone when they're sick is anywhere in the fuck buddies manual; ditto for cooking them homemade vegetarian soup.

I think its clear what's happening here.

I've been hypnotized and brainwashed. Sometime when I wasn't paying attention. And somehow my super strong defense lines have been compromised. I must call in the backup forces before its too late!

Its amazing the crap you write while under the influence of codeine cough syrup. I'll deny it all vehemently tomorrow.