The three biggest symptoms that I have taken sick? Loss of patience, politeness, and fashion sense.
The first two are basically the same, at least in how you’d experience them, so I’ll cover those two together. Plus, I don’t the patience to cover three things, yo.
I’m, in general, a polite person. I say please, thank you, and you’re welcome with a fair amount of regularity. I also have a pretty high tolerance for annoying people. “Annoying” can be classed as lazy, stupid, frustrating — or a host of other qualifiers. And, again in general, I can usually tolerate them all.
When I’m sick, though, something shifts. My body is already in veritable turmoil (because when I get sick, I go all out), and even the slightest extra discomfort is all a bit too much. I have come extremely close to screaming at obnoxious sidewalk people whilst sick, and I really do try to give them the benefit of the doubt.
The second (third?) symptom I guess is also a result of a lack of patience, however, it’s something else too. As I said, when I actually get sick, it’s in a big way. I am in so much discomfort, the thought of doing anything mire taxing than lying in bed bemoaning my sorry state is almost too much to bear. I need some kind of comfort, and I need it now.
Unfortunately for the extremely fashion-sensitive, the most comfortable clothes are rarely the most stylish. It wasn’t even until I was on the train to work yesterday that it occurred to me that I was wearing Uggs and jeggings. Together. At the same time. And they weren’t even my good, could-be-real-jeans-as-long-as-I-keep-the-elastic-waistband-hidden jeggings. And no, I hadn’t packed a pair of flats to change into once my journey was done. This was the outfit I had selected for the whole day.
I mean, in general, I can put together an outfit. I don’t think anyone is every usually embarrassed to be seen with me. (cough…I won Best Dressed senior year of high school..cough…) Sure, I have a judgment lapse now and then, but who doesn’t? But when my immune system checks out, so does whatever enables me to avoid mixing plaids with stripes.
I barely even remember making the decision. I imagine the process involved me stumbling around my apartment feeling for the softest clothing I could find and then just putting it on in a Ny-Quil-induced stupor.
The worst part of it all is that I wasn’t even mad at myself. In fact, I even kind of applauded my subconscious for being so thoughtful.
I’m sick, dangit. I’ve earned these fake pants and bulky boots.
And if you have a problem with that…well…let’s just reconvene when I’m healthy, shall we?