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Argh. [May. 26th, 2005|03:55 pm]
[I Feel a Bit . . . |crankycranky]
[Current Sound |Essence - Agricantus]

I'm in hell.

Okay, maybe I'm exaggerating.

I'm at the gates of hell. Does hell actually have gates?

. . . I'm in the parking garage of hell.

My ex is staying at my house. I don't know how long he's going to be here. Hopefully just a few days.

How did this happen? You may ask.

We don't spend any time together. I only see him when he comes to drop Lyla off. So why, oh why is he asleep on my couch?

Let me take you back to when this whole mess began. I got home from work and just as I was kicking off my shoes the phone rang. It was Josh. This was weird because he was supposed to be coming by in half an hour anyway. He told me that Lyla was sick. Okay. I thanked him for alerting me. We hung up.

Twenty minutes later I heard a car pulling up in front of my house. I turned off the stove and went to the door. I opened it. "Hi sweetie. How are you feeling?" I asked Lyla. She shrugged. I gave her a hug. Then I glanced up at Josh. He was drenched in sweat and as pale as a sheet. Obviously Lyla was not the only one who was sick.

I invited him in. He stumbled over the threshold and somehow, I'm not sure how, made it to a chair. I left him there while I took Lyla to her room and tucked her into bed. She was exhausted and fell asleep almost immediately. Reluctantly I returned to the living room. Josh barely moved as I felt his forehead. Yep. He was burning up, although you wouldn't know it by the way he was shivering.

You know how people say the doctors make the worst patients? They obviously don't know any surgeons. At least doctors actually know what they're supposed to do, even if they don't follow their own advice. Surgeons on the other hand don't understand nearly enough about viruses, bacteria or germs (they know sterile and unsterile) and yet they are still just as cocky.

After arguing for a good five minutes, Josh finally allowed me to take his temperature. 102.7. Lovely.

Well, I couldn't send him away. He'd just go home, collapse and dehydrate.

I helped him over to the couch and he promptly curled up. Two Tylenols and a glass of water later he was asleep.

And that brings us to the present.

I need to schedule doctors appointments. Buy more soup. Figure out what I'm going to do about work.

Oh, and on top of everything, Josh is apparently too tall for my couch so it looks like I'm going to have to let him use my bed.

Ah, complaining feels so good sometimes.