Beware The Unwell

Screw the undead. It's the unwell you need to fear.  Seriously, when I'm sick, I'm either helpless or mean. Sometimes I'm helplessly mean.

I've been sick for over a week. I don't mean a little sniffle or a little congestion; I mean out-of-work-for-a-week, shivering-on-the-sofa-waiting-for-death sick. And that first part? That out-of-work-for-a-week part? That means I was trapped in the house with the increasingly fretful DH (still recovering from his surgery) and the stupendously annoying demon spawn (home for winter break).

My best efforts at recovery were destined for failure from the start.  When I get sick, I cocoon.  I want to hole up in my nest with all the supplies I'll need to ride out the storm of my illness. This was not to be.

Escape

Deety is not a patient person. This could come as a surprise to people who know me IRL, because in some circumstances, I've been known to show extreme patience. But at home, in my personal life...not so much.

DH is recovering from major surgery. This means that he is occupying our main living space nearly 24x7 (barring trips to the shower and short walks outside). The corollary to this is that the television is on nearly 24x7.  Deety hates the television. The television is the bane of my existence. It is my version of nails on a chalkboard; anchovies on a pizza; it is the thing my world could do without.