I'm Sorry, Roommate

Roommate, remember yesterday morning when I woke up and you were sleeping in the bathtub and I was all mad because I needed to pee?

I'm sorry. I'm willing to forgive you and say that I'm sorry I got mad about it. Because last night, you were my hero.
I staggered in from work and went straight to bed, knowing you'd be home minutes after me. My mutant death suffering anguish disease had apparently evolved into something even more sinister. I had a migraine on top of everything else and it felt like my eye was going to explode. So I laid in bed with a pillow mashed over my eyes. I heard you and your friend come upstairs. Your friend said goodbye and left, and you came knocking on my door, asking me if I was alright. When I explained in a senseless mumble that I was dying, you sprang heroically into action, asking if I'd taken any medicine, if I needed to go to the hospital, etc etc.

When I mumbled something about not being able to take any medicine because we had nothing to drink, you volunteered to walk to the little gas station a block away and get me a soda. I expressed my gratitude, and you got ready to leave.
As you were preparing for your journey, for some reason I got up to putter aimlessly around the kitchen. You told me to go back to bed. I did so. Except that when I collapsed back onto my bed, I cracked the back of my head against the wall and it hurt a lot and I cursed some.

You told me not to move until you got back, and departed.

Time seemed to stop moving. I vaguely remember laying in bed, crying pathetically. I might have been drooling on myself a little bit; I can't really remember. It hurt to be alive. I pondered how I'd ever gotten through work, and I wondered if you, Roommate, would call Target for me and tell them I wouldn't be coming to work in case I died in my sleep.
At any rate, you returned with a can of Pepsi in hand. You told me to take my medicine, and then out of respect for my privacy or just plain not wanting to have to see me looking like a zombie, left my room. I took about six Excedrin, drank some Pepsi, and passed out.

In hindsight, I maybe shouldn't have taken so much. But I had to because otherwise I never would have fallen asleep. I still think I'm dying and I have to go to work and I'm dreading it because I feel so terrible, but I'm gonna try and make it.

At any rate, Roommate, thank you for going to get me a soda last night. You're awesome.

PS.
This is probably what I looked like last night.
Clearly, my finest hour.

Illness, Day... Four, I think?

So I woke up today and the back of my head hurt. Not like a headache, but like... where my spine meets my skull hurts. This may sound ridiculous or it may just sound like I slept wrong, but it's true. Also, I hate it when my roommate decides it'd be a good idea to go lay in the bath for well over an hour RIGHT when I'm waking up. Like most people when they first wake up, my first stop is the bathroom.

It was the need to urinate that actually woke me up. I crawled out of bed, feeling sick and very sorry for myself, and toddled my way over to the bathroom. I reached for the knob and stopped. The light was on-- I could see it under the door. Well, maybe he would be out in a minute. I glanced hopefully into his room. Maybe he'd just forgotten to turn out the light. No such luck.

So I waited. And waited. My roommate never emerged. No sound at all issued from the bathroom. No running water, no toilet flushing, no audible breathing-- nothing.

I knocked on the door. "Roommate?" I called. Well, I used his name but we're protecting the 'innocent' here.

No response. But then, I finally caught it-- a snore.

That bastard had drawn himself a bath and fallen asleep in the damned tub.

I was furious. I knocked on the door, louder. No response. I stayed that way for another minute. No response except for more snoring.

Finally I gave up and stormed off to bed again, deciding that I would just go back to sleep and try later. When I woke up exactly half an hour later, he was out and happily playing on his damn computer. I shot him a glare and stormed into the bathroom.

And now that I've satisfied the need to urinate, I realize how crappy I feel. In addition to my weird neck/head pain, I'm still experiencing the symptoms from yesterday, and my throat really hurts too. My right tonsil is swollen-- but only the right one. Lefty's normal. What the hell is wrong with me?

Mutant Suffering Anguish Death Disease, Type 4.

It's Time to Play...

GUESS THE ILLNESS! Wooooo!

For the past few days, I've been steadily feeling more and more sick again. I took my temperature earlier and according to the thermometer, I have a temperature of 101. I can't imagine that's good. And I can't even joke about being... HOT BLOODED! Because I don't have a fever of a hundred and three.

So my symptoms are...

Headaches
Nausea
Fever
Stiffness/Soreness
Skin Pain. No, seriously, my SKIN hurts.
Crankiness (Probably due to other symptoms)

So I've been sleeping a lot and I'm eating Tylenol like candies trying to keep my fever down, but I'm wondering what is wrong with me. Now, I don't have the money to go see a doctor, so I'm going to just self-diagnose this as Recurring Mutant Death and Misery Disease. More than just intimidating-- it's medically mysterious.

Jem

My roommate and I get along fairly well, all things considered. He's a 27-year-old bachelor type and I am a 21-year-old... not-bachelor type. He has his room. I have mine. When he gets on my nerves or I just don't feel social, I just shut my bedroom door and enjoy the privacy until I do feel social again.

But my roommate and I disagree on one very important thing.

I love Jem and the Holograms.

My roommate does not. In fact, my roommate hates Jem and the Holograms.

I also love the Misfits-- you know, the band of 80s punk-style bad girls and they were totally Jem's rivals? I kind of like the Misfits better because whereas Jem sang about love and snuggles and music being magic and truly outrageous and glamour and fashion and fame, the Misfits sang about other, more interesting subjects. Well, in the perspective of an 80s kids' cartoon.

But I digress. Jem is fierce. I dig her huge pink hair and her fashionableness and her awesome 80s makeup. I dig how carefully multicultural the Holograms were. If they remade Jem, I would watch, enthralled, every single day. I would sing along with the songs. I still do when I listen to them on YouTube.

Yes, I've YouTubed the songs from Jem. Me and my friends are Jem girls. Jem, Jem is my name.

Yes, I'm listening to Jem songs while I type this.

My roommate hates me a little.

You see, because of the fact that we live in an apartment without central air, the only way to get nice cool air from our air conditioner is to leave our doors open. Meaning that unless he wants to suffer in a sweltering room, he has to leave his door open. Normally I listen to my music quietly enough that he can't really hear it, but if he does something I find particularly obnoxious, foul, or unpleasant (this morning, I woke up to use the restroom and it smelled like rotten eggs and butt-stank. I literally opened the door and gagged, and was unable to use the bathroom to pee for about an hour), I crank up the volume and drive him insane.

HERE COMES GOLD! GLITTER AND GOLD!

TRULY OUTRAGEOUS, THAT'S A JEM GIRL!

BUT WE'RE THE MISFITS, OUR SONGS ARE BETTER.

Oh, he hates it. Revenge is sweet. So really, if you've gleaned any information at all from this post, it should be that I'm really not a nice person.