I have every right to be miserable. I’m sick, God dammit! I never get sick. I made it through my entire first year of college without catching the freshman plague, and now here I am, a bleary-eyed, sniffling, and clutching another mug of tea. What is this, some kind of sophomore slump?
I’ve always been the kid with perfect attendance. In my family, there was no such thing as “staying home sick”; Mom would just give us a dose of cold medicine and a travel pack of tissues and send us on our way. Sure, six hours at school with a cold was not anyone’s definition of a good time, but in six hours it would be over. We could go home, take a nap, drink some orange juice, and feel bad about ourselves for the rest of the day.
Now that I’m at college, school and responsibilities are not confined to a six-hour time block that I just need to suffer through before I can relax. Meetings, class, and work shifts are sprinkled throughout my day. Oh yeah, and there’s the whole living-on-your-own-without-parental-supervision thing that means I have to take care of myself twenty-four hours of the day.
So you can see how getting sick is not really an option for me. Right now, it’s in its early stages, when I still have an outside chance of sleeping it off or taking enough vitamin C to wipe it out of existence. But what if this sickness becomes the real thing? Will I be forced to hole up in my room with nothing but Netflix and Blackboard for company while trying not to disturb my roommate too much with constant nose-blowing? Or will I be able to revive family tradition at college, forcing myself across campus with a box of tissues and a travel mug of Theraflu? Only time will tell, but if you see me in class this week wrapped in a blanket with a runny nose, congratulate me on my perfect attendance. Then go get yourself some hand sanitizer; being sick sucks.