I’m sick. I have a runny nose, a sore throat and a cough that won’t quit. Too many sleepless nights. Some nights my cough is so bad, I think I’m going to pass out.

But if I did cough myself into unconsciousness, who would be there to revive me? As far as I’m concerned, the worst thing about being sick is having no one to whine to about how bad I feel.

Plus, there’s no one to make sure I’m still breathing during the night, no one to check my temperature with a gentle palm to my forehead, no one to run and get me some NyQuil from the bathroom cabinet and no one to say, “Poor baby.”

Yes, I want a mother. She should be beautiful, sweet, patient and understanding at all times. She could look a little bit like June Cleaver or any of the other TV moms as long as she stays at home where there is work to do.

I want a mother to clean my house every day, including the shower so that the windows on my shower doors shine like the TV commercials. She should vacuum, dust and polish the furniture.

I want her to make sure that the dishes are always washed before they start growing green fuzz. And when things die in the refrigerator, she should be the one to dig it out of the Tupperware container and stuff it down the garbage disposal (because I can’t do that without gagging).

And I want her to pick up after me and do the laundry at least every other day so that I have maximum choices when it’s time to pick out an outfit to wear each morning.

Speaking of my wardrobe, I want a clothing allowance so that I can buy new clothes whenever I get tired of my old clothes. It would be great to have clothes that are “in” for a change, not to mention a few name brands instead of the cheap-o brands my own income provides.

I also want an allowance in return for taking the trash out and for keeping my room clean. That way I can buy myself little doo-dads, like whenever I have the urge to buy a People magazine or a pair of earrings to match my eyes.

Worrying about the bills is one stress I don’t need. I want someone else to worry about paying the electric bill and the telephone bill.

I want to be able to talk on the phone whenever I want, for as long as I want, to whomever I want — even if they live in Brazil. Mothers are good at making sure these little things get taken care of by running interference and telling little white lies to save our butts. They love us, so they’re willing to do it.

I don’t want a curfew, but it would be nice if there was someone who worried when I didn’t get home on time.

She would wake me up gently in the morning (instead of that damn alarm). She would remind me to wear gloves on cold days, and she would offer me hot cocoa when I got home on a snowy day.

Remember the wonder years of childhood when all we had to do was get up and breakfast was waiting for us on the table?

Our lunch was usually packaged up in a nice little brown paper bag, and we could spend all morning anticipating what little surprises our mothers had packed into that sack or lunch box.

When we got home, she was there to greet us with a smile and “How was your day? What did you learn today?”

Actually, I didn’t have that kind of mother (mine worked, we made our own breakfast of cold cereal and our own peanut butter sandwiches every day), but I saw enough TV to almost believe it was my life too.

Maybe that’s why I want a mother now, to make up for not having one when I was little. Or maybe it’s just human to want someone to take care of you.

Otherwise, why would we all watch those shows with perfect mothers who never lose their tempers and are always fresh, clean and happy?

Yes, I want a mother. I want someone to tell me I’m beautiful and that everything is going to be wonderful even when the outlook is pretty bad.

Mothers are good at these things, but we never really seem to appreciate them until we don’t have them around to take care of us.

Mothers also drive us crazy sometimes, driving us to leave home and move into our own apartments where we have to do everything for ourselves.

I don’t mind doing the laundry, I guess. And I suppose I can handle the dishes. I’ll make do with living in a dusty house where the dustbunnies are as big as mice and equally evasive.

And I’ll deal with cooking my own meals, even though I’m at best a mediocre cook. I’ll do this for a little freedom.

I guess the only time I really want a mother is when I have a bad cold and need a little tender loving care. The rest of the time I can take care of myself. But a little sympathy would be nice.

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Kata Alvidrez is a graduate student in English from Los Angeles. You can send sympathy notes to her care of the Daily.