Confessions from a Dimetapp Loving Girl


The early afternoon sun is pouring in through the hideous blinds that hang in front of our sliding glass door.

I hate those blinds. They’re light beige with stains at the bottom; showing off spills and dirt smudges from renters past.

I would love to rip those down and burn them. 

If  I destroyed them, our land lord would potentially notice they’re gone once we move out…and that “potential” is not one I’m willing to pay for.

I’m rarely ever home during this time of the day, and while the brightly lit living room is enjoyable, I’m appalled at all the dust the sunlight is highlighting on our furniture.

Man, didn’t we dust that end table two weeks ago?

Even the carpet shows off crumbs differently during the day light. Yuck.

If only I had the energy, I would grab the vacuum, the duster, and Clorox wipes, and give this main level a scrub down.

But my used tissues that look like snow fall around me, my half empty mug of hot tea, and a torn open medicine box all give evidence to the fact that energy is one thing I have little of today.

Sick days always sound much more glamorous when I’m sitting in my office and wishing I could watch endless episodes of Gilmore Girls while snoozing on my couch.

Apparently during those healthy moment fantasies, I forget about the crusty nose, the plugged ears, and constant oscillation between hot and cold, hot and cold.

Bleh. Only a mother and devoted husband could love a girl in this state. Both of which I am blessed to have, but neither of which are here.

This morning I woke up after restless sleep with my brain demanding one thing: cold medicine. NOW.

The only thing in our cabinet was expired pills from two years ago, an endless supply of Benadryl for those times Big Fisch eats all the wrong foods, and liquid cough medicine.

Dang it. How did my mom always seem to have a stocked medicine cabinet?!

I didn’t yet have a cough; that wouldn’t do. Suddenly a bottle of purple, grape flavored Dimetapp was all I could think of. Where was that purple liquid of the gods?? I could have sworn we had some. All I wanted at that moment was to down an entire bottle of it.

Unfortunately…and fortunately…we had none. With Big Fisch already off to work, this meant one thing: I would have to throw something half decent on and venture down the street to the store. I could hear the wind rustling against the house, but the building pressure in my sinuses told me I had no other choice.

Naturally, I stopped at a deli on the way for an egg sandwich.

Who expects a sick girl to make breakfast for herself? 

I walked into the deli with a baseball cap and sunglasses on. I had tied my hair sloppily behind the cap, and didn’t have one ounce of makeup on. I hoped to leave the glasses on the entire time, but realized I’d look like a creepy druggy who strolled in for a late morning bagel and  $0.99 coffee after badgering people outside for cash.

So I pulled off the glasses and tried to meet the cashier’s eyes with confidence.

She had thick black hair all tied into a messy bun on the top of her head. She looked to be in her early twenties and on her tan face she wore freckles and little patience.

She had long, acrylic nails painted red, yellow and blue. They tapped against the keys as she chomped on her gum and entered my order.

Almost three years living up North and I’m still not used to this Jersey-licious style.

She handed me my receipt and I could have sworn I heard her say “Can I have your number?”

“Um, you want my number?” I asked. Why the heck would this deli need my number?

She looked at me blankly. “Uh…what?”

“I thought you just asked for my number.” Man I wish I had at least applied some mascara.

She quickly gave me a look over and with an amused smirk  said “Ha. Um, no…I just asked you to please sign your name on the receipt.”

“Right, sorry.”

I scribbled what could hardly be considered a signature and stepped to the right to wait for my breakfast sandwich.

Great, I seem crusty AND creepy. Good thing hitting on other girls isn’t my thing.

I made it back home in what seemed to be an hour later, but in reality was probably only 15-20 minutes. My ears were throbbing from the cold wind and all I wanted was to taste that bacon that lay waiting for me in my breakfast sandwich.

I cozied up on the couch, cued Gilmore Girls season 5, and proceeded to fill my body with the food and medicine it had been begging for.

girlmoregirls season5

Hmph. Extra rest, my favorite show, and this breakfast is still not worth it.

The clock read 10:32. There was still so much day to go; so much that could get done if only I had the energy.

Even though I have days when I wish so badly I could be home keeping my house spic and span, with the luxury of sleeping till 8:00am and catching Good Morning America, I am so thankful for my job.

I’m thankful for my usual health. For my routine (that I’ve come to realize I heavily rely on), and for my many friends and activities that keep my life feeling “busy.”

My life on a daily basis does not look entirely like what I thought it would. And in the future I’m pretty sure it will look quite different. But for now, I think I’m right where God wants me.

Emphasis on “think” because I often feel God’s leading me a certain way…but then He shows me a different plan.

Sure, there’s many things I wish I had more time to do. Writing here, is one of them. But for now, I’m often called to be present; fully invested in the moment. Whether that is mentally at work, or intentionally talking and hanging out with Big Fisch in the evenings, or spending free time with friends that are in my life now.  I’m thankful for the life God has given me, imperfect and mistake-filled as it can be at times.

I guess a little cold medicine and too much time on the couch gets a girl thinking about these sort of things, ya know?

And I’m thankful. Thankful I’m not usually so crusty and creepy, and thankful for what I know to be routine.