When I'm Sick

When you’re sick
all you can do is
push push push
through your class,
scribble manic
trees on the table
and pull your coat
on and pull your
coat off and put your
hair down and put
your hair up and
take an hour and
fifteen minutes of
lecture to eat a banana,
little piece by piece,
and you won’t
even care that your
class mates block
friends will stare at
you like you lost it all,
all this in pursuit of
respiratory peace.

When you’re sick
and your professor
asks for your thoughts
on a quote you cited the
night before in a cold syrup
ambien painful delirium,
all you can do is run your
shaking hands through
your now down hair and
contradict everything you’ve
previously said in class
in an effort to find what you’d
meant to have been said the
night before in your act of
thoughtless citing.
Your professor will probably
stare at you like you’re not
the student he is used to
seeing in your chair but
that’s okay because hopefully
that student will come back
another day. Hopefully, I say.

When you’re sick and your
class moves outside to the
grass and you’re wearing a
short dress and lace tights
and you have no control of
your long twitching thighs,
all you can do is just lie on
your side with your knees by
the boy you might just very
much like like, and in this
position you’ll be finally okay
with the events of the day, but
you must try not to fall asleep in
the summer haze and sycamore
shade with your college crush
by your bruised legs as your
professor goes on and on until
the 3 pm afternoon drag, rambling
on the meaning behind what Sartre said.

When you’re sick and you
realize class was long ago
dismissed and it’s now just
you and the thorny bits of
torn up twigs in the glare
of a sinus infection, it
must be time to relocate
from the spidery grass to
your apartment complex and
collapse on your bed, shouting
out the screened window to
the construction crews sobbing
for them to:
Shut the fuck up
Shut the fuck up
Shut the fuck up
you blasted hammering
tools who are killing my
youth. You wake me at 5
everyday to your jokes and
loud coffee breaks and drills
and hammering and general
innocence so the least you
can do is silence the afternoon
so a sick exhausted girl may
nap for the first time in her
near twenty years of life and I
swear I don’t mean to be cruel
but I’m so tired and there
are rats in my nose and so can you
you please be quite Mr. Hammering men? 

They won’t stop their ruckus
so you’ll give up when you’re
sick and go in search of food.

When your sick
and hungry and
it feels as if there
are spider bites
on your tonsils and
hornets fluttering
down your throat
all you can do is go
to King Soopers
and roam the store
in agony looking
for the correct
supplies and settle
on a pint of soy
chocolate fudge
ice cream and a jar
of coconut water and
four cans of tomato
sauce so you may make
tomato tea with the
near rotting lemons
in your fridge and
the bottle of hot
sauce your father
gave to you as a
perfect moving gift.

When you’re sick
and you have a
final paper due
in three days that
you have yet to
begin, along with
70 pages of night
reading due in
the morning, I
suggest you send
your sniffling self
to the library and
glue yourself to
a plum chair for
at least 4 hours
and even if they
aren’t the most
productive hours
and your paper
is far far far far
from being done
or even begun
at least you can
eventually go to
sleep, drugged
up and not as weary,
knowing that you
tried, that you
at least attempted
to do some thing
and please dear sick
girl don’t die, don’t
freak out, the paper
will be completed,
you always pull
through, I have
absolute faith in you.

When you’re sick
and you’re sad in
a post camping
high crash and
you wish you
were still outside
by a fire with
charmers and
spiders and the
florescent moon
and buzzing sky
and not inside
behind white
walls with mountains
of procrastinated
work at your desk
and a throat that feels
like rotting death
just close your
eyes and let
your mind fly.
I know you’re
cliche so you have
this ability some
where in your
sickly brain, and
please stop
hating on your
mouth for eating
all the ice cream
the reason was fair.
When your throat
feels shredded a
pint of ice cream is
a perfect dinner and
come on girl you’ll
go camping again
and in three days
the paper will be
brilliantly written
and you’ll no longer
feel sick but I can
promise you this
writing a bull shit
blog in thin yet uneven
columns will get you
and your health
and your final grade
straight to no where.

So when you’re sick
just go through the
motions and deny
shots of whiskey and
try to avoid WordPress
and drink tomato tea
and Powerade and
don’t necessarily look
forward to the new day
but do remember that
one sick day is just a
day out of many days
and all days inevitably
drift away to a place
where you can sparely
remember them.

But for the record,
when you’re sick
please don’t call me.
I’m too melodramatic
and scared of sick
germs to be a good
nurse to even my
dearest of dear friends.

I hate being sick.