SLAYED . . .

The irony slays me, it really does.

How is it possible that I could spend an entire day and evening, soooo glad for the chance to be snowed in, to rest, to just lay around, to give into tiredness and sleepiness, to allow my body to slowly recover from this wretched cold ... but then, when it's time to take a night-time cold tablet and drop off into sleep, I DON'T?

I wonder -- horror of horrors -- if I've built up a tolerance to night-time Comtrex. GASP. I live and die by night-time Comtrex. For my entire life so far, whenever I have caught a cold, all it took was one, maybe two nights of being felled by one wee night-time Comtrex and sweating it out under heavy blankets to recover fully and bounce back to my old peppy self. The last two bouts of sickness, however, I have discovered that instead of falling deep into sleep (albeit riddled with the most bizarre dreams evah), I have remained WIDE AWAKE. For HOURS. Into DAWN.

What the ...

I don't know how to face life with a cold without an effective night-time Comtrex. I feel slightly betrayed, actually, by this normally trusty pill. (I feel even worse because I tout its glories to everyone I know, and now, if it doesn't work for me, why the heck would it work for them? And if they end up staying up all night because of this wretchedly faulty formula ... oh, I can't bear the guilt.)

Of course, it doesn't help that I'm simultaneously thinking of: finances, jobs, writing cover letters, wondering when I will get married so my parents will be happy, how hard the snow is going to be to clear off of my car in the morning, how long it's going to take me to get through Grammars of Creation, why I find myself always in the position of caring for others more than they care for me, how I can better love this person I have a really hard time loving, if I want to switch careers and go into teaching, how long the night is and how much better tomorrow will be ...

And then there's this eternal problem: the blankets are too hot. But if I kick them off, I'm too cold. So I gingerly replace them upon my body, and it's a furnace again.

Seriously. What is a whiny sick girl to do?