I Am Sick
I know that a lot of people have been holding that opinion of me for years. But, no, I am sick – sick. I have a major cold. It’s not the flu, Ebola, or the Creeping Gang-Ganga (a rare condition spread by the dreaded Gaboon Viper that sneaks up behind you and bites you on the Gaboon). I am just sick.
It started with a sneeze or two a couple of days ago. Then came a few hours of nonstop sneezing and the ultimate in brain freezes to knock me out. I crawled into bed and stayed there until the next morning.
I was hoping that things would be better. They weren’t. In addition to the sneezes I was now coughing like a badly out of tune Buick and my nose was running like a mini-Mississippi. I was a lovely sight to see.
(Musical Interlude while I continue being sick)
It is now the next day. I have slept away most of the last 24 hours. It was probably the best thing for me. Yesterday I was a miserable sight to see. I looked in the mirror and had a fleeting idea that perhaps death might be my best course of action. I quickly got past that stage when I realized that there was no future in death.
During this last marathon of sleep I may have passed the halfway point in this illness because when I woke up this morning I actually felt better. My head no longer felt like an overinflated beach ball and my nose, while still a nice shade of red, could no longer be considered the source of the river Styx.
I took a calculated risk after I was fully awake. We are supposed to get hit with snow this afternoon, so I bundled up like a four year old and ventured out for coffee and a quick trip to the Kroger’s store. It was raining and windy but I felt impervious – until I stepped outside the door. It was like trying to walk through an icy carwash. It felt like I should hang one of those pine tree shaped deodorizers around my neck. Not fun at all.
Despite all of this it still felt good to be out. I’m not a man who would be a good cloistered monk, or a convict. I get cabin fever after about 45 minutes. I don’t like even spending more than two minutes in the voting booth.
A number of years ago a Great Aunt of mine had a serious family tree drawn up, going back several centuries. It seems that, according to this dubious document, my ancestors were exiled from two different European countries. Eventually they ran out of Old World countries and came to the New World. I don’t have any details, but I do know that they moved a lot once they landed here. I suspect they may have had a skill set that wasn’t appreciated by the local citizenry. I’m not saying that they were crooks, per se, but – oh, I’m taking The Fifth on this. Let’s just say I’m having a fevered rant.
Perhaps I should start doing another genealogical search into the family’s spotted history. I might just find out why they moved, under duress to be sure, so often. Perhaps they were just restless and flunked out of Monk Basic Training.
Now, I’m going to put on Gloria Gaynor’s big hit, “I Will Survive,” and shake this Disco Fever.