Down with the Sickness

The hubs and I are sick.

And, man, it sucks.

Being sick on a regular day sucks, but it sucks harder when you’re a parent.  And even harder when both parents are sick at the same time.  It’s the suckiest.

Both of us have been coughing and sneezing and hacking and gagging that my toddler thinks this is a new game.  Even though he’s still healthy (I have no idea how he hasn’t gotten our viral plague as of yet), he’s started fake coughing because he thinks it’s now the cool thing to do.  If this goes on much longer, we’ll have given our son some sort of complex.

We’ve been cooped up for several days now, and I’m not sure how much longer we can hold out.  Our produce is almost gone, we’ve dipped into my NyQuil reserves (this is not a joke), and we might be sick of each other.

As a SAHM and an introvert who is prone to self-isolation, the social commitments I make for my son and I each week are crucial to my sanity, and when one of us is sick, we can’t go talk to the other humans.  And that makes mommy something-something.  So the only silver lining is that, this week, my husband is home sick too.  WOO!  PLAGUE PARTY!!  We can sneeze the Overture of 1812 better than Ferris Bueller’s keyboard.  Seriously, it has been nice to have him home with us, because at least I don’t have to sick-parent a well-kid all by me onesie.

However, this situation has also given way to arguments over who is sicker, and thus who gets a free pass from parenting the not-sick, full-energy child.  My partner may or may not have said that he’s so sick that he’s not at work and deserves a break.  And I may or may not have said that I AM STILL AT WORK EVEN THOUGH I AM SICK AND I DESERVE TO POOP ALONE.  And then we agreed to disagree after the argument devolved into a mutual coughing fit.

In related illness news: I discovered that I can now hit Adele’s sexy, sexy low notes. I’d better get this down in the studio before my immune system decides to wake the fuck up.  Also, after visually confirming that my voice wasn’t coming from a would-be creepy male kidnapper, the hubs told me that I should start a late night sexy-talk line (that’s what they’re called, right?) and use the alias Bernice in order to earn a little extra cash.  You know, for our kid’s college fund.  Or so I can buy some more NyQuil.

Drawsome!

Lately I’ve been addicted to this magical game played via Facebook and smartbatphone called Draw Something.

And since I am currently studying for my licensing exams like a mad fiend– did you know that addiction is not actually a proper diagnosis?

The different substance use disorders can be categorized into either abuse or dependence.  To meet criteria for abuse, you gotta use a substance and have some bad shit happen in at least one of the following:

1) failure to get your ass to work, school, home and do what you’re supposed to do

2) taking dumbass risks because of the substance

3) substance-related legal problems

4) continued use despite crappy consequences with loved ones yelling at you to stop playing Draw Something because it’s now time to eat, sleep, go to the bathroom in the toilet this time, etc.

I actually loosely meet criteria for Draw Something dependence, which means I have bad shit happen in at least three of seven criteria.  Let’s take a look, shall we:

1) tolerance, which means I need more and more Draw Something games in order to feel the same level of bliss I felt at being able to portray John Lennon’s essence with some digital black ink and my pointer finger on a tiny glass screen.  Check.

2) withdrawal, meaning I get the shakes when I can’t check for new turns, or when none of my friends-with-actual-lives have drawn me something in the past 20 minutes.  Check. 

3) I sit down to play just one little turn of DS, and I look up seven turns later and realize it’s now dark out.  Check. 

4) I wanna cut down, I really do, but it’s just too hard.  I can quit any time.  Check.

5) I start researching amazing DS examples, and I look up famous photos to copy in order to create more amazing, mind-numbing finger art.  Check.

6) I ignore the cat and my boyman because DS is far more important, clearly.  Check.  

7) I keep playing even though it’s a problem that could possibly ruin my life and give me carpel tunnel.  Check.

For actual diagnostic criteria, just look in the nearest, friendly, neighborhood DSM IV.  What did we learn today?  All together now: that addiction is not an actual diagnosis.  And that I am crazy (also not an actual diagnosis).  Very good!

The following are the drawsome reasons why my social life is hanging by a thread:

As you can see, the word was TRASHCAN, but I decided to jazz it up with Oscar the Grouch.  Any excuse to draw a unibrow.

Still life.  I call it Ode to Coke.

I thought about drawing David Beckham’s sexy sixpack instead, but I figured my true-to-live depiction would be seizure-inducing, so to avoid a lawsuit, I went the safe route.  You’re welcome, but not really, cuz you missed out on one sexy seizure.

My interpretation of The Lorax.  I took some artistic liberties, mainly reversing color values and also neglecting arms and legs.  Who needs em.

I am pretty proud of some of my portraits.  This is GaGa stepping out in purple.

Classy.  Even if it looks like her eye sockets are empty, open, and soulless with streaks of mascara running down.  Probably from crying since she apparently lost her eyes in that freak gasoline fight accident.  Tragic.


Done from memory, although I almost forgot she had ears.  She looks soooooo stoned, you guys.

My favorite Disney character as a child.  Please note that I gave her both highlights and lowlights and added more cleavage.  Sorry about the lazy right eye (enlarged left eye?)

Do you get what I was going for here?  It’s our favorite chubby dead dictator, Kim Jong Ill, wearing his favorite button-up straightjacket.  For effect, I added the failed rocket launch that brought shame to their country.  Needless to say, this drawing was not guessed correctly.  :(

You try drawing this word!  It’s hard.  I deserve extra points for making his boxers pretty blue-and-purple plaid.  Don’t overlook his tears of shame, either.  The real story is in those tears.

This is my favorite drawing by far.  I drew this by instinct, realizing afterwards that I was emulating John’s drawsomely famous self-portrait.  Less is more, my friends.

Anyone else out there dependent on Draw Something for everything except calories?