(6 pm. – promoted by ek hornbeck)
Cleetus is sick. This doesn’t happen often, but when it does I feel confident in stating that he is, in fact, the sickest man on earth. He needs lots and lots of TLC, I don’t shirk from this, it’s my job. It’s not so much the moaning and groaning, that’s a given in this situation, it’s not the “rub this” or “fetch me a cold compress” either. It’s the pissy ungratefulness that bellows out of the man in response to my prompt and tender fucking administering of care. I mean I expect him to be a big baby, he doesn’t need to be a wanker on top of it. I keep trying to tell myself that he can’t help it, but a little voice inside me keeps whispering, “He could, he doesn’t want to.”
That’s really not fair of me, I know. He takes care of me 95% of the time, and he’s good to me in more ways than I can count. Plus the poor bugger has no paid sick time, so that’s a damn good reason to be cranky, I’m down with that. No pay for two days so far and now the question of another no pay day or go in still feeling like shit. I am not down with being on the receiving end of said crankiness. Still, it comes with the job. What does gastritis last? A week? Two? Oh, fuck it, shoot me now.
But–seriously, when he is miserable like this it is contagious. I have a computer chair that has been inadequate since the day I bought it months ago. The tilt lever lets go on it’s own whenever it damn well pleases, and even though I carefully checked the weight limit on the damn thing and I’m well under, it let’s me down in small increments with a little bump/hiss like a whispering insult. Yesterday the tilt let go and I jammed my toe on a chair leg so hard that it turned purple. When I got done cussing I readjusted the height up and sat back down. I don’t think it was an hour before it started-bump/hiss: you’re fat-bump/hiss-you’re fat-bump/hiss-you’re fat—dammitalltohell!!!!
I’m not generally a cranky person. Cynical and sarcastic, yes, dry, even, but not cranky. I need this shit to be over. I need Cleetus to get well yesterday, but that’s not going to happen. What’s going to happen is he’s going to go in to work tonight because the doctor wrote: able to return to work Wednesday, even though he clearly isn’t, and because we need the money and the job. And I realize I’d feel a whole lot better about this whole deal if he could just lay down and be sick until he’s better without worrying about this bullshit. But…no.
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They sent him home from work, but told him he might have sick pay…might. We shall see.
and men, man they are the biggest babies when they’re sick… may he feel a lot better really soon…
No, not the bionic one, the one on my chair. It’s brand new and this is one of those ‘factory sealed’ parts you’re not supposed to mess with (without of course a big sharp Phillips Head)
We should tag team a cranky, doesn’t take much to get me going.