I have joked that since I got married, I can officially commence letting myself go.
I thought I was joking. Maybe I wasn’t.
First? I had a stress fracture in my foot. Then? Allergic reaction to gunk on stitches. Now?
Oh, Lord. I have shingles.
Yes, I have the chicken pox virus-induced magic that is shingles. Me, and a whole bunch of elderly people.
Perhaps this is a sign that I am worn down, since it typically strikes folks with compromised immune systems. Like cancer or AIDS patients, or the elderly. Or, you know, otherwise healthy 36-year-old women who recently had a stress fracture and some gross rashes.
To the uninitiated, shingles is a rash that’s crazily only on one side of your body. And, it’s in a line. And it itches like poison ivy but, because shingles is a crazy bitch, also hurts. Hurts like you are being stabbed with multiple pencils.
Today, I actually wondered if I could just cut the rash off of my body, because that surely wouldn’t be this crappy.
But the crappiest part of all? I can’t be around pregnant people until this shit goes away. Which, even with drugs and such, could be weeks.
There are 2 women at work who are pregnant.
I can’t go to work.
I called my boss, practically delirious. “I don’t know what to do! I’m so gross! And I would die if something happened because I was all around the pregnant ladies! I’m so gross!”
Like having chicken pox at age 4 made me gross and not just, you know, like the rest of the adult population.
So, I’m working from home until, like, further notice.
I practically attacked My Guy when he got home from work today, and it’s only been 1 day. “How are you doing? How was work? What did you have for lunch?” Between that and my recent rash of oozing rashes? I am totally Dream Spouse.
There are just some times when you are out of sorts, you know? And now would definitely be one of those times.