Quarter-Life Cuteness: My roommate, I love her, Part II

One of things irking me as I get “old” is that I seem to have become one of those people who is never quite well. Never mind the difficulty this presents as I try to uphold my grammatical dignity and reply, “I’m well!” when people ask “how are you?” It’s really just an excuse for me to say Oh-My-God-I’m-Only-24-And-I’m-Already-Decrepit.

In any case, after just recovering from illness last week, yesterday afternoon I was revisited by my friends chills, headache and fatigue. By the time I left work, I had to stop every two blocks to rest, and when I got to my apartment, I didn’t even pause to show off my newly repaired motorcycle boots, but stumbled to my room and fell into bed. (at 8:30. More like a 3/4 Life Crisis, I know.)

An hour later, I was awake and, (no joke) thinking about the Internet. If I only I could lift myself off the pillow, surely I could find this condition online. But what would I search for? We have a lot of health guides, but as far as I knew, none called Early-Onset Depletion.

Who knows as much as the Internet? I wondered to myself. Then it hit me: I called my mom. Unfortunately, my mom is a mom before she is a Totalitarian Expert, and when she heard my gravelly whisper, she insisted, “You need someone to help you!”
“No, I’m fine. I just wanted to see to if you ever heard of my mysterious condition.”
“I’m worried!”
“It’s ok, Thanks, bye.” This is the best part of having your own apartment: the Drama of leaving your mother wondering if you will live to see morning.

But the fact is, I did need some help, and I was supplied it by my other fantastic roommate, Gabby. Gabby made me some highly restorative vegetable broth which enabled me to: sit up, eat dinner and distract her from her research paper by telling stories about my day.

The Moral of the Story? As Gabby said, “I understand that no matter how independent you are, it’s nice to have someone make you broth when you need it.”

I am eternally grateful to her both the soup, and for graciously implying that I’m an independent person, which, as someone who has known me for 7 years and lived with me for three, she knows is entirely un-true. (For independent sibling, please see: Stephen.)

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