It's ridiculous, really. I turn as helpless as a newborn kitten, but not nearly half as cute. I loll and mewl and complain, even if there's no one around to hear me.
If I'm home alone, I refuse to do any task that might make me feel better. Why? Because most of those tasks also involve getting out of bed. Glass of water? Nah, the fridge is to far away. See a doctor? Nope, because if I can get all the way across town to the doctor, I may as well go to work. My snot-filled brain runs circuits of its own pessimism, and I get mired in self-pity.
Yesterday, however, was the lowest of the low. I refused to go to work, and instead sent a series of increasingly incoherent text messages to my colleagues. I refused to get out of bed, and instead spent my day sleeping or staring into space. Hey, this flu thing is serious business.
Worst of all, when I noticed that the fitted sheet was no longer tucked into the mattress, I didn't get up to fix it. Nope. I flopped about on the bed, like a hooked northern pike, struggling mightily to fix the fitted sheet while I was still lying on top of it. The small, not-sick portion of my brain watched the proceedings with bemused detachment. Who makes a bed while they're still IN BED? Me. That's who.
In the comments, tell me the silliest thing you do when you're sick.