It Must Be the Drugs
Actually it just maybe the lack of them. As you know from the weekend’s entry I have a virus from Hell. And as every parent reading this knows, the child will suffer much less than the parent once “The Creeping Crud” is detected. It’s one of those parenting honors we weren’t told about in those “What to Expect When You Are (fill in the blank)” books. “Don’t worry if your child gets strep throat. These days the drugs are so good your child will be back at school and playing soccer less than 24 hours after their fever tops out somewhere around the ability to weld aluminum. You however will contract the same virus and will be tortured like a suspected witch during the Dark Ages.”
My ability to have fluids pass through every orifice on my body (and believe me, there are some I didn’t know I had) continued through Presidents Day. For those in Canada or other places in the world this is the holiday that we recognize our more flamboyant past national leaders like Bill Clinton and JFK by having white sales. If the term “white sale” is foreign to you then let us say that this is the time of year to replenish the bed sheets. If you are still unfamiliar with the term “flamboyant leaders” let me just say we’ve had our share of First Ladies who weren’t the Last or ever will be.
Where was I? Oh yes. We went shopping yesterday. I think. I remember leaving the house and returning at some point. I can only hope that I spread my disease to the wait staff at the local watering hole since they took 45 minutes to deliver our food to us. Seriously, how long can it take to warm a bowl of soup and then cook some pasta?
So given my predilection for hallucinating due to fever and whatever I decided to do some painting. Looking at the work today I was quite pleased which made me rethink some promises I made myself when I graduated from college. After taking a break last I just went downstairs to visit the living. I found Jessie and Ben on one couch, Joan in a Lazy Boy, and the two dogs lying comfortably on the floor gnawing upon their chew toys. Even the cat was sleeping comfortably atop Joan’s chair. Pretty soon it become obvious that the noises coming from The Oozing Man was disturbing their lovely family atmosphere. Yours truly fit into the scene like Monica Lewinsky at a Clinton family reunion.
I think I’m tonight going to cough boldly like no one has coughed before. I want that sweet sugary pity and sympathy that I justly deserve! I want Jessie to ignore the noises that sound eerily like a Marilyn Manson song so she can fluff my pillow and tuck my blankets in. I want to see Ben’s huge smile with just a glint in his eye letting me know he understands my suffering. I want Joan to bring me a hot bowl of homemade chicken soup and fawn all over me with inquisitive words of how she may ease my pain. Hail to the Chief!
Wait a minute! I must really be hallucinating. I think I’m going back to bed. Somebody turn out the lights and wake me up when it’s Spring.
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
It Must Be the Drugs