Give it to Me Straight, Doc.

Ahh... you're here. It is so refreshing to know I can always count on you to be here. You have this peacefully calming affect on me...it's such a breath of fresh air in the midst of a hectic day.

My life is a bit more peaceful than it has been in the previous few weeks. The stress and physical strain of making a huge life-altering decision has come and gone. I have peacefully and comfortably turned down an incredible job offer. Alas, I am the only one who fills my shoes, and dare I say I chose Keens over Stilettos.

My mind is at peace, but my emotions and physical body have endured somewhat of a good ol' fashioned 'beat-down.' Many a-sleepless nights and nail biting daydreams of a potential and successful future in Houston left me in the groggiest of spirits. I've got all the symptoms: sore throat, scratchy voice, a seemingly endless supply of thick rubbery mucus that surfaces at the most convenient moments possible (delighted to know, I'm sure), and a fuzzy haze of lethargy.

What do you make of it, Doc?

"Well, Ms. Fogarty, stay here in this backless paper shirt and I'll be back in about 20 minutes to give you your diagnosis. Here, sit on this butcher paper until I return...and feel free to peruse this 'Highlights' magazine while I'm away. I recommend the hidden objects page; it can be quite tantalizing. "

(Little does he know that all but one of the hidden objects have already been circled by previous patients. One of these days, I will prevail in having the 'first crack' at it.)

"Okay Ms. Fogarty...you can put your shirt back on in a minute. The parchment paper robe is merely so I feel more authoritative. I have some bad news."

"Bad news? ...What is it?"

"Well...how should I put this...It's... news that's not good."

"No, I mean what is the bad news?"

"Oh. The bad news is someone has already circled all the hidden objects in all our Highlights magazines."

"Tell me something I don't know. What's the good news, then?"

"The good news is the results of your tongue depressor tests are in."

"Am I going to die?"

"Yes. We all die eventually, but there's no telling when or where."

"No, I mean what good news do you have to share?"

"Well, since you asked, I just saved money on my car insurance, but that's none of your business."

"Did you really? Oh wow, well who do you have insura--No, no, I meant what are the test results?"

Diagnosis: I've determined you to be...'drained.'

Prognosis: 100% chance of recovery...but it will be tough.

Prescription: Take one (1) nap, for ten (10) minutes each day, until gone. Do not take on an empty stomach."

No empty stomach, hmm? I think I can tackle that minor detail. Chocolate pudding is the herbal remedy for many weaklings. For others, ice cream (hard, soft, and the malted variety) has become a staple: the medicinal therapy of choice. My sick food? Planters Cheeseballs. I personally have come to believe that one whiff of the artificial cheese powder on circular puffs of crumbly air nurses my immune system back to health almost instantaneously. I have faith that this, in combination with the purest elixir found in nature - pulp-free pineapple orange juice- is the ancient tribal healing secret.

...And rest, I shall. I'll be blunt, there's no reason to hide: I milk it. I milk it like a maid. Being sick is an opportune time to let yourself be vulnerable and leave your well-being to others. People, I will share this with you one time, and one time only: If you don't milk it, you aren't taking advantage of all that being sick has to offer. This is your time to have everything you need to survive within arm's reach. Warm cozy blanket? Here, have four. I brought your pirate slippers with the googly eyes, too, to keep your feet snuggly. Big puffy pillow? Let me fluff it for you. Thirsty? Here's a sippy mug full of pineapple orange juice, there's an endless supply in the fridge, ring this little bell if you need more (I imagine those very words are being spoken in heaven on a regular basis). Tissues? I got you Kleenex, quilted, with lotion built right into each sheet. I'll even throw your snotty tissues away. Hug? No--gross, what are you trying to do, get us all sick?

It was quite an emotional dilemma, but through the magic of cheeseballs, I am miraculously and slowly nursing myself back to health.

Peace out,
H