Ms. keep-your- distance

It's supposedly 6 degrees outside now. 6 degrees on a Friday night. I'm glad i'm home with a runny nose, hacking cough and the sore-st of sore throats for company.
I think i'd forgotten what it was like to be sick. I haven't been sick since i arrived in dear old Siddanee. Must be something in the air here since i wasn't the healthiest of persons back in Singapore, getting a cold once every two or three weeks.
But oh. Now i remember. I remember the loss of appetite. I remember sheets that smell nasty, as if they had taken on the scent of sickness. I remember waking up, wanting toast. I remember wanting toast prepared by someone else. I remember.

What i don't remember is this: I don't remember waking up to a sunny, cold, crisp morning; the spirit yearning to be walking outside with a coat and scarf and a cup of hot chocolate whilst the body demands rest and warmth. I don't remember having to do laundry, waiting for the wash to be done and then walking all the way to the back of the apartment to hang it all out to dry. I don't remember walking to Woolies to get a bunch of bananas (and then finding out its was $1.48 per bag instead of the usual $0.98). I don't remember having to cook dinner just so i wouldn't starve.
I don't remember because i never had to experience any of that. Someone did my laundry. Someone cooked. Someone bought the bananas. Someone paid for those bananas.

Being sick is one thing.
But being sick and having no one to take care of you is another thing altogether. Believe me, it's not fun.

Meanwhile, I watched Raising Helen and liked it. Lisa and i signed the lease on our new house and we saw Chris, the cute real estate man with the bluest eyes. I wore my boots last night. An old Irish dude started chatting with me last night at the bus stop (what did he mean when he said he liked ladies in boots?). And the ginger, soy and honey chicken i cooked for dinner wasn't bad either. Go, Ms. independent.