I am in quarantine. Officially.

Against my better judgement, I hopped myself up on Benylin, which, fyi, is my drug of choice. I have tried them all out. Trust me, I have tried them ALL…and not just because Benylin is the only one that doesn’t expect you to swallow a pill that’s the size of a baby’s arm. (Don’t they know, Jewish girls don’t swallow?) Anyway, I drugged myself and went about my regular business. Thanksgiving parties at friends’ houses, work, dinner at my inlaws, Chevy Cruze city challenges…when, you know, I should have been doing things like resting and eating chicken soup and taking steamy showers and such, and most importantly, not breathing on other people.

(Nothing says guilt like infecting your boss with your plague…)

(although, she DID make fun of my snot rags, so it may just be some sort of karma thing happening)

So, no, today, I am braless and pantsless and my tired and aching body is lounging on the couch getting some much-needed work done while catching up on episodes of Sister Wives and Dexter and season 6 of Weeds that, you know, is only finally getting funny again and maybe a really cheesy movie like 13 Going on 30, that I absolutely loved but will never admit it out loud. I am drinking Keurig coffee by the gallon-full and coughing up my lungs. I will probably take a nap if the post-nasal drip will stop making me choke.

In other words, I AM A VISION.

But I need this. For me. For all the moms out there. Because we don’t take sick days. We drive carpool and make lunches and do laundry and buy school supplies and run Willy Wonka* lines and help with Hebrew homework (with the help of those great online translator tools because apparently, 14 years of Hebrew day school did not prepare me for Emily’s 4th grade Hebrew homework…chew on that, years of tuition payments) and go to work and answer emails and put away the dishes and refill the dishwasher and feed the dog and let him out and clean up his barf and iron Emily’s hair and find tights that don’t have holes in them and run down the street in search of Bryan Adams.

(*Emily didn’t get the part of Veruca Salt. But she is over-the-moon with her part. Veruca went to a second grader and Emily breezed it off and is super excited to OPEN THE SHOW as the narrator and Mrs. Bucket and Mrs. Gloop AND TWO SOLOS. She has so many lines. She is in so many scenes. And there was nary a tear in sight. I am so relieved.)

In other words, everything and everyone else comes first.

But today, I am doing myself and everyone else a favor. I am getting better.