I’m getting
tired of her.
She sleeps a
lot and leaves dirty dishes in the sink.
She wastes lots of time on silly YouTube videos. She forgets to plug in the Chrome book and
spills crumbs on the couch. Her tossed
Kleenex don’t always land in the wastebasket.
She spent two days in her jammies, and one day she didn’t even wash her
hair.
She was extremely annoying before she
realized she was sick with something or another, all that moaning and groaning
about the pain. Naturally, she did not
realize she needed to see a doctor until after business hours. By then, she was reduced to lying on the
couch muttering, “Oh God, oh God,” and wondering if she would become delirious
from the fever. Or maybe she had already
been delirious the two sleepless nights before when she was chilled to the bone
and never once considered she might be running a temperature.
She started
to get a little less tiresome when she finally picked up a book again. She knew it was a good sign that she could
concentrate to read rather than staring off into space. After another day, she finally took care of
those dirty dishes. She realized that
she was beginning to walk instead of shuffle and that the dizziness had
subsided. She tried her hand at a few
simple household tasks. But she wasn’t
ready to do her taxes yet because her brain still felt more unreliable than
usual. She finally got so sick of
reclining in the recliner that she walked into her messy office, sat in her
office chair, and wrote these words:
“I’m getting
tired of her. . .”
