I am a terrible sick person.
I don’t get sick often. This is a good thing, because when I DO get sick, I am not good at it.
Things I want to do when I get sick:
- moan some more
- not interact with human beings
- imagine how the sweet, sweet embrace of death would be preferable to the evil sickness that has me in its clutches
- eat all the soup
This is what I want to do whether I have the flu or whether I have a pesky cold. Right now, I have what I think is between the two; it’s gone past being a pesky cold, in that I’m coughing up half a lung and have lost most of my voice and have a fever, but I’m not DYING, like I was when I had the flu over Christmas. It is being made worse by the fact that it is officially allergy season here in my beloved Capital District; the pollen is so thick in the air that it’s like walking through a sticky golden haze. When I use my windshield wiper fluid to get it off the car, it creates pollen-mud. Why are you so oversexed, trees and flowers? You’re going way overboard, pollen-wise. My poor little allergy-prone body just utterly cannot handle this.
I thought I was just having an allergy attack this week, but as the week progressed and the sore throat got worse, I could no longer deny that I was actually getting sick. Allergies very seldom cause fevers. Or coughing. Sneezing, maybe, but not coughing to the point your whole ribs ache. DAMMIT.
I had to leave work early today because not only could the callers not hear me, it was like gargling with broken glass to talk. Sorry, coworkers. I’m an embarrassment. Luckily it wasn’t very busy and we had plenty of people working today, so if I had to be sick, it was a good day for it to happen.
NOT as luckily, I’m in a stretch of extremely busy busy-ness over the next 5 days. Plays to see, people to visit, auditions to run, work to do. I managed to see and review a show last night, but coughed all the way through it, and am not 100% sure how well the review came out, because I had to stop every few minutes to put my head down and moan.
Also, when you have a fever and run out of cold medication, you sometimes make poor decisions, and then you wake up and say, did I really make that poor decision? Or was it all a fever dream? And then you check into it and realize that yes, yes you did make that poor decision, and you feel like an utter and complete asshole for having done so and probably owe people an apology for things done while under the influence of fevers. I mean, so I hear. Such things happen. To some people. Not ME. Heh. No. Not ever me.
So now I’m off to make another poor decision, which is to attempt to sit through a play because it’s my only chance to see it. It’s only an hour and fifteen minutes long; I had some soup; I took a nice fortifying nap; I drank some unnaturally-orange store-brand DayQuil and am bringing a bottle of water larger than my forearm and a bag of cough drops the size of my OTHER forearm and luckily it’s at my theater so hopefully no one will get too upset at the feverish hacking chick sitting woozily in the back row.
Moan. Moan moan MOAN. Cough. I’m the most pitiful thing that ever pitifuled. Doom. Gloom. Tiny violin.
(I promise to be back soon with final episodes of “Adventures in Baltimore” if I don’t cough myself to death. No. Really. I promise.)