I love being sick. It is the only chance I get to acquire some attention around here. Otherwise, I am just taken for granted and expected to take care of everything for everyone else. My cats will tell you all about it.

I look forward to that one morning in the year, usually around April, when I wake up with an excruciating sensation of fish hooks imbedded in the back of my throat. I thoroughly enjoy looking into my bathroom mirror and observing my green and yellow tongue, and staring into the hollows of my very vacant, drooping eye sockets.

I love it when I finally get the golden opportunity to put a thermometer into my mouth. The excitement of waiting for those little beeps is sometimes too much for me to bear, but when I finally hear them, I pause for a second before I look, sort of like I do when I am about to check my lottery tickets....Yippee! 99.3 degrees, a fever!

Jumping back into bed and calling my boss on the telephone, makes it even better. It is almost just as compensating as when my mother used to let me stay home from school when I was a child. I just wish that in this late summer of my life, she could call my boss for me or send me back to work in a few days with a sick note.

I tend to over emphasize with a few little extra grunts and groans, just to make it even more convincing. After I hang up the phone, I sometimes applaud myself over my performance. I mean, I know I'm sick, but I just have to win a little extra sympathy from the hand that feeds me and signs my paychecks, and at the same time I like to gain a sense of approval, before I can roll over and snuggle into my soft, plump pillows.

Laying in my soft warm bed, swallowing the odd piece of phlegm while clearing my nasal passages, is one of my true talents. Additionally, mastering the ability to feel sorry for myself and yet at the same time, enjoying everything that has to do with being sick, goes hand in hand with my indulging pity and absorbing self satisfaction.

The back road to masochism allows me to wallow in the state of comfort before I enter the big Fever Highway. Once I am cruising in a fast lane of purple and brightly speckled tunneled vision, I start looking for the Tylenol and Ibuprofen brake pedals to slow me down.

Once the over the counter remedy has taken hold, I enjoy the crashing sensation that transitions me from shiver to stability. This is where I pull up the candlewick bedspread over my slimy wet face and pour slowly into a place called

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