Steady is officially on the mend. He even has consumed a tiny amount of food that required chewing. I checked out his throat this evening and one tonsil is looking better and the other still looks like some sort of cartoonish image of strep throat. It's like hyperbole in action in there.
I think that all my tired and whining about not feeling well is entirely connected to the travelling and the worrying about my sister (she sent me a text message today that she's been released from the hospital).
It possibly might be in some way vaguely associated with the fact that since my boyfriend has been off solid foods, I've been subsisting on peanut butter and jelly sandwhiches, cigarettes, and dreams of coffee. Not even actual coffee, just daydreaming about iced lattes. It's very healthy. At least I am making the sandwhiches on whole wheat bread.
I am not eating the natural peanut butter gunk that's in the pantry. That's one place where my granola ways just aren't going. I can't look at it. I am not even thinking about it. My boyfriend threw up in my car on the way home from the doctor yesterday and that was less gross to me than the seperated natural peanut butter. We all have our things.
My biggest icks are the sound of cotton on cotton (this is why I don't wear socks. Then you can even feel the cotton rubbing on the cotton) and oil that has seperated from something. I can handle a bottle of olive oil. I cannot look at any sort of grease droplets on food or the oil on the top of the peanut butter or what happens to alfredo sauce when you reheat it. I can't really even talk about this anymore...
Oh, and one more. I think this is universal. I cannot handle, have absolutely have no coping mechanism for, any kind of spitting or actual spit. One time I accidentally knocked over a coworker's glass of tobacco juice onto a mousepad. That was the worst thing ever.
Yesterday I came home from work and commented on the variety of drinks on the coffee table in front of the boyfriend including the opaque plasic cup he'd requested earlier. My mother had noted that it was obvious that my boyfriend was quite ill just seeing that he was unable to swallow his own spit... I guess it had to go somewhere once he was three days sicker.
"Just ignore that UK cup. It's full of rainbows and fairies and sunshine and pixie dust. But you can't look at it. And puppies. There are puppies in there. But they don't want you to look at them or touch them or anything. Just pretend they aren't there. That cup does not exist."
