Revenge of the Spit

So, I got resick. But only a little bit. On the eleventh day after beginning the Z-pack ("many continue to improve on days 6-10!"), I got a runny nose and sore throat combo. Fucking allergies, spores, mold, palm trees, sinuses, cough syrup, cold pills, and so on. Felt crappy the whole weekend. Then I stayed home yesterday, because I was like "What the fuck!?! Who is going to give a ripe red ass when I work myself into pneumonia? You know who: me!" So I rested my body and my mind, which is really a classier way of saying that I laid around and watched slacker television all day. Today I had a light day, tomorrow I have an even lighter day, and all will soon be well in the land of Shangri La and I will be back to my bitter diatribes about shit that no one really cares about and would really be healthier emotionally and physically if I just let it go. Ahh, unexamined life.

Too much information

I have finally given in: I went and got my damn Z-pack today. You know, I was like “Say, I am a healthy young man, I should be able to get better on my own.” That was Sunday. Monday, I wake up, feel like shit (no surprises there since that is pretty much how I feel ANY time that I do not sleep until I wake naturally), say to myself “I’ll give it one more day and then I’ll call the doctor.” Tuesday morning, I wake up, feel like shit (see above parenthetical notice), and say to myself “I’ll give it one more day and then I’ll call the doctor.” Wednesday morning… nah, just fucking with ya: Tuesday, I lost my voice. Yes, it apparently IS possible to actually shut me up. I sounded worse than um, that guy… hold on while I look it up… Dustin Diamond, you know, Screech from “Saved by the Bell”. Ha ha ha! All of that effort for something not so funny. My metaphor wasn’t that good either.
Anyway, cutting remarks aside, I decided to give in. I absolutely HATE taking drugs, pills, medications, potions, unguents, creams I like okay… my point is, I don’t like putting foreign substances that aren’t Jose Cuervo into my body. I knew I had turned hardcore when I washed my cold pills down with cough syrup, so I was like “May as well go ahead and get the fucking Z-pack.”
I made the call to my doctor, and I had to schedule an appointment. I hate this because I feel like I have to pay him $20 to sit around for forty-five minutes in order for him to say “You are sick. Get a Z-pack.” It’s terrible having a doctor that actually wants to look at you. Anyway, he said that this always seems to happen with me: I catch something, probably viral, then it goes into my sinuses with bacteria, and bingo! sinus infection. I sort of want to go “Doi! Why not just write me the scrip then and save your time and my money?” But I don’t, because he has felt my genitals and may have to do so again in the future… especially if I get lonely and have $20 to blow.
So, I will be getting better soon, which is a good thing: apparently, I am a hairsbreadth away from obesity, at least according to the chart on the wall behind the scale in the doctor’s office, anyway. Shit. Now I have to start working out and eating better. That does it: I’m going to buy an iPod. If I am going to be surrounded by sweaty people I have no interest in talking to, I should at least be able listen to my own music. Scissor Sister, can you work it on out?

Take as directed

My life is obviously more fantastic than yours. Proof? Behold my week in review! See, if you were as super-awesome as I am, you would have your own week in review posted on your own blog where literally five people may marvel in its glory. Ok, so allow me my little delusions. I was going to catch up this week, right? Gonna make good on that promise to give you all some hot, steamy goodness that is my writing, yes? Yeah, about that…

Monday I worked late like a chump. This is completely unconnected to the fact that my boss recently told me she was disappointed in me. Tuesday, I had a thing after work which basically meant that I stayed at work until 6:30, which is an eleven hour day. I LOVE eleven hour days, but not as much as I love thirteen hour days, one of which I had the week before. Now, I am turgid with excitement over all of this gloriously disappointing overtime, right? So Wednesday, we have a meeting that starts fifteen minutes before the time we normally have to be at work. Wednesday, you might note, is the day after Tuesday where I had the eleven hour day. Yes! So, to be on time for Wednesday’s meeting, I have to get up a lot earlier than normal. You may ask, “Wouldn’t you just have to get up fifteen minutes earlier than normal?” Au contraire, mes amis! For you see, due to a genetic experiment gone awry, the earlier I get up, the longer it takes me to get ready. It is an exponential relationship that could destroy the universe, which is why I am never awake at 5:27 a.m. Shh! The lobsters are listening.

Meeting goes well enough. But, my one friend, she is sick, and of course she has to talk to me about something, and I don’t have the heart to cry “Unclean!” while backing steadily away from her. I later ponder my recent string of healthiness (since March 2004!), further inviting fate to fuck me in the fudge tunnel. Of course, Wednesday evening I get a sore throat. It feels like a baby has been using my uvula as a punching bag. I figure that it must be syphilis, although I have no idea how I would have contracted that since the, uh, oh wait: I have had sex within the last month. Go me, it’s my birthday! Anyway, I decide on Thursday morning that I am well enough to go to work, but depending on how the day goes, I might be coming back home. About noon, I come home and crash into a pile, first turning up the AC to 85 and putting on sweatpants and bundling up in blankets. Four hours later, I awake, feeling somewhat better. Just to be on the safe side, I go to the store and stock up on Fresca, OJ, Tylenol Sinus, Campbell’s Tomato Soup, Cheezits and cheese. By the time I am done shopping, I feel fine. Friday morning I wake up, feel good, make it through most of the day until I have to deal with two people who are apparently incapable of reading and are furthermore fucking inconsiderate shitbags. This saps my low reserve of natural ebullience, making me teeter on the edge of a crash. Wake up this morning feeling like there’s a party in my mouth and everyone is throwing up. I am so tired, but I haven’t slept all day. Just periodic blocks of unconsciousness, or the next best thing, television watching. Now is the time for more cold medication, for it is the only thing keeping the lobsters at bay. Or it’s what attracts them: I can never remember! Those crazy lobsters! Ha ha ha ha!