Checking In

I am dying of an unspeakable and tragic disease known only as "The Common Cold." Between bouts of coughing my lungs out I am sneezing and sniffling and when I try to speak it's like someone put my voice in a blender and then poured lemon juice on top. Let's say nothing about what I look like.

I'm supposed to check in with my recruiter (well, he's not my recruiter but he's the local recruiter who I do functions with so I don't have to drive over an hour to see my recruiter who was moved.. confusing, I know) every week. My husband thinks it's silly that a married, twenty-five year-old, wife and mother has to check in weekly like a child but I say that rules are rules and I follow the rules. After all, I'm not looking for any favors or special treatment.

So, this morning, after breakfast I called my recruiter and waited for his answer.

He picked up the phone and after giving the raspy version of my name I said, "You asked me to check in with you on Tuesday so that's why I'm calling."

He said, "You sound horrible."

I said, "I feel horrible."

"Well, go back to bed and get some rest. Come to our Thursday PT if you feeling better." He laughed.

I must sound that good. "Thanks, Staff Sergeant. I'll try."

Then I took his advice literally and curled up next to my son for a semblance of a nap.

I really would prefer not to feel like my life force is being sucked out of my nose and I hope this is over soon.