English Muffins and Ginger Ale

I was planning that this blog would be about Yom Kippur, the Jewish Day of Atonement.  I was going to talk about the tradition, how I've evolved from a kid running around the halls of the temple to a fasting adult.  I'd talk about the spirituality of the day and maybe even rant a little about bringing little kids with baggies of food to the temple.  But then, something terrible happened..

I got sick.

My boyfriend came back home a little sick.  He had a stuffed up nose and a soar throat.  Not a big deal for someone who isn't me. I don't get just a little sick- I get fever sick almost every time.  

It started Wednesday, a little soar throat, nothing to worry about.  Then Thursday came around, I wasn't feeling that great, but I could still function.  I went to work and realized that I wasn't talking that much.  I just kind of wanted to cuddle up in a ball and be left alone.  One of the managers at work helped me out (though apparently made it seem like I was dying), and I was able to go home.  Then it hit me.  I had fever pains all over, and decided to curl up into a ball on the couch and wait for someone to rescue me.

When I woke up Friday morning (Eve of Yom Kippur) and decided (I think pretty rationally) that it was better to just die, I realized that I probably wasn't going to be able to fast. I know to most of you that may sound like a blessing, but did I mention I'd rather die?  And I really do like the spirituality of fasting (maybe I will still write about it..).  I had planned a big meal with friends who stayed up north for Yom Kippur (though, most of them didn't fast).  I gathered all the strength that I had left and I cooked chicken for the feast.  I was able to be there for half an hour before I needed to curl up into a ball again. 

I went home and my boyfriend took care of me.  He made me tea, checked my temperature, made me drink water and cooked me some soup (he even made me eat a couple pieces of bread, even though I didn't want to).  We watched movies and he even let me put my legs on him, even though he was hot.  I went to bed and he checked in on me and gave me water and aspirin.  He was pretty good at taking care of me.

And still, I found myself just wanting to go home.  To my parents house, where they were and they could take care of me.  I found myself fantasizing about English Muffins with some butter and Ginger Ale (the secret to getting better).

 Some things never change, I'm 26 years old and all I wanted yesterday (besides being put out of my misery and just dying already) is to go home to my Mommy and Daddy.