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.