I Thought the Headache, Congestion & Depression Were Enough

I thought the headache, congestion, and general misery of being sick while being depressed were enough.  I thought I was sick enough.  This is a “normal” cold, I suppose. Without getting graphic, getting the crud OUT of my system is the WORST part of this.  I don’t want the flu, where flu-ids are coming out of EVERY bodily orifice, that’s for sure. So thank God for small favors.

It’s mostly only sinuses and chest congestion.  I had the worst headache over the past 3 days, and I just hurt all over.  Thank God the headache is ALMOST gone.  But today it started coming out, worse than before.  This is SO gross.  I hate being human, isn’t there a better alternative that doesn’t involve being dead?  I’m trying not to be mysophobic, really, but everything that comes out is gross.  If I’m made up of the things that come out…  Hair, sweat, blood, vomit, shit, gas, spit, snot, phlegm, earwax, urine, sperm, and dead skin cells.  And occasionally bits of these broken teeth, although that’s been a while I guess.  All tolled, though…  I. Am. So. Gross.

This morning when I was trying to get out of my house, the snot reached a new high, at least it’s not pneumonia or I might be afraid I was mostly dead.  It just kept coming out, yellowed, sticky, like some kind of choking-me-t0-death mucosal demon that had been cast out, and for me personally, altogether too slowly.  It’s not the cute looking thing on the commercials, ohhh, no.  Strings of it.  You’re probably puking a little.  And now, even this late in the day, there’s vestiges lurking behind my nose, and chunky bits hiding in my lungs waiting their turn in the queue.  I feel them.

I’m sitting at work in an office, I even have to spit discreetly.  And I have to talk to people, which just sucks.  I want to tell them all I don’t care.  I want to tell them all to just shut up.  It’s probably the depression speaking, after all I feel this way about the people I have to talk to every day.  I just don’t like forced interactions with people.  Just leave me the fuck alone.  I don’t mind it when I invite it, but when I don’t, go away.

I want a shower, inside and out, to just wash all of this away.  What the fuck causes a random headache that feels like someone is stabbing my brain and my eyes from the inside, lasts for a while and ceteris paribus (nothing being different) just as randomly quits hurting for a while?

And after my shower, I want a week away from everything, just hibernating at home with my friends.  You know a few of them are on this list:

Oh, and Mrs. M and the kids, as long as they’re doing what they’re supposed to do:  kids can clean the house and vacuum and do laundry, Mrs M can be bringing me steak and wine and ice cream, and otherwise waiting on me, hand and foot and everything in between.  ::raises hands to be out of her way::  “Waiting” is a euphemism for something more graphic.  I’ll let the reader decide whether to speculate. I’ll just say, Mrs. M can choose her euphemism, or indulge my favorites… mmmm.

Like that’s ever gonna happen.  Let the reader know it doesn’t matter how sick I am, I still want Mrs. M’s affections.  Even if she doesn’t indulge my favorite euphemisms.

Faithful readers (are there any?) already know damned well that when I got bored I would be up and cleaning whatever needed cleaning, and fixing that stupid drywall patch.  Given enough time I’d be renting the carpet shampooer too.  And changing the cars’ oil.

I hate hair worst of all.  Not the hair that’s where it’s supposed to be.  The odd hair growing where it shouldn’t, and the hair on the floor.  Can’t. Stand. It.  Because it’s always there, it gunks up the vacuum cleaner on the carpet, and it won’t come up when you sweep, and when you mop, it’s still there staring at you and you have to pick it up to be rid of it.  And tomorrow, when my wife and daughter brush their hair, it’s ba-ack.  Like the demons in Matthew 12:44 or Luke 11:26.  And I didn’t even mention my own hair, which is almost as bad.  What the hell causes the hair to adhere to a bare floor, clinging despite the efforts of a good sturdy broom?!  It’s almost worse than whatever’s in my lungs and sinuses.  Almost.

Pardon me, I have to cough.  And probably spit.  Discreetly.  Sorry.

Bleah.

~DM