Sick

So, Bunny has been home sick for the last two days. Today, I think I got it as well. I think. I mean, either I am sick, or someone has boiled my bones like spaghetti, and if I were to throw myself against a wall, I think I would stick.

What is it about being sick that feels like a moral failing, anyway? I ain't got time to be sick! I'll be sick when I'm dead! Real Moms don't bleed! Something like that.

But, lordy, I have all the signs. I can't stay awake. My bone marrow aches. Nothing seems interesting. Food looks awful. I have terrible songs stuck in my head--today it's "Dancing Queen" by ABBA, which is not only horrible, but it is humiliating how many of the words I know--and I can't get rid of them.

One of the interesting things about depression, actually, is how much it mimics being sick. Can't get out of bed, can't think straight, feel overwhelmed and tired, nothing is interesting enough to spend energy to do. . .

Except the kids don't bring depression viruses home from school, so we're writing this one off as illness.