It’s December, so I must be sick. Right on schedule, too.
I have never been terribly good at being sick. Like everyone in the world, I don’t like how it makes me feel, in each individual sickity-sick way that an illness makes one feel. Never found a sick feeling I liked at all. Unless you count the smug feeling seven year old me felt when she hugged her baby brothers goodnight – religiously, every single night she had the chicken pox.
(small, evil past me, I was a terrible child in many respects)
I don’t like the helplessness of it – I’m alone in this world (as it were), there’s no one here to pat my head or bring me soup. I mean, I have the cats and all, but I have the sneaking suspicion that even if they had opposable thumbs, they wouldn’t be all that hip to repaying the whole “fetch food and water” thing.
I always forget to keep Nyquil and Dayquil on hand. I have chanced across a random stash of Dayquil in my recent efforts to unearth my apartment from under several years of anxiety and depression assisted sloth, so lucky me there, but really, I am a thirty-seven year old woman with a health savings account. You would think I would just buy a whole bunch in October every year and wait for the inevitable sinus infection (it is always a sinus infection now, like clockwork). And yet, no.
The…mixed news is that thanks to my efforts in adulting, this sinus infection has so far not been an entirely terrible experience. It’s mixed news because I’m both glad and annoyed as hell about it. I am glad I am not quite as tired, not quite as incapacitated by deafness and sneezing and that disgusting sort of slimy cottonmouth one gets when one is forced to breath through their mouth 78% of the day. That’s all well and good.
But let me tell you. I have spent the last two years improving my diet to include a much heavier weight on vegetables and whole grains than on meat and processed carbs. I have been religiously taking a powerful multivitamin for months. I have been struggling to cut out an irritating addiction to soft drinks. And do you even know how much garlic I eat?
I’m not saying I’m a born-again hippie (well…not entirely…), I’m not perfect, I am in fact the heaviest I have ever been (thanks, hormonal birth control!…and cheese, let’s be real, I am never gonna give up cheese), but for the love of god, Montresor, you would think that all those efforts would be enough to stave off this head-goo from hell but no, they are only enough to temper the effects of it. And that is very annoying because quinoa is expensive and for what I ask you.
I’m upright, but I can only breathe through one nostril and hear through one ear and I am really, really cranky about it.
Also, whenever I blow my nose, my right ear whistles, so I’ve gone and punctured the eardrum there, that’s grand.
I’ve had so much herbal tea to drink, it smells like dried leaves when I, ah, visit the facilities.
Seriously, I’ve had so much garlic, so absolutely much garlic.
I can’t even think of a good way to end this.
Told you I was awful at being sick.