I'm sick in bed with Shingles. It hurts to move. It hurts to breath. It hurts to turn my head. It hurts to be alive at this moment.
My family has supplied me with pillows, my Comfy Blanket, ice water, ice cream, pretty much anything I moan that will make me feel better. It seems like anything with sugar is all I want. Butterfingers, fruit punch, ginger ale, Nerds, candy canes. I know better than to actually eat all that I want because those aren't going to help me get healthy, but dang, those candy canes are taunting me. The candy canes know I'm sick. They know.
The one thing I wanted, hubby couldn't provide for me. Seriously, what is he here for if he can't give me that one thing? It's not like I asked for the moon on a string. It's a pretty simple thing, and it's all I want. I don't care that doing that doesn't appeal to him. Man up here.
I told him to heal me.
He first put his finger up my nose 'cause he was looking at the TV when he reached his hand over. I learned my lesson not to ask for healing when Wizards of Waverly Place is on. Yes, this Wizards of Waverly Place. Unless I need assistance picking my nose, from now on, I'll make sure he is looking at me before allowing him to reach anywhere near me.
Eventually hubby put his hand on my forehead. Then announced that I shall be healed & horizontal. Then said, "See? You got it."
"It doesn't count if I'm already laying down. And I'm not healed yet. You suck."
Apparently he doesn't like being told he sucks, because I got a line about how he knows I'll be healed. I told him it's not good to lie & I know he's lying because I could die tonight from Shingles & that would make him a healing-liar...or lying healer. Whatever.
He said God doesn't hate him so he knows God won't let me die yet. I probably should have been all "awww" at that one, and not, "After all you've done, I'm surprised He doesn't."
Oh well. At least I'm horizontal.