Being sick is not just a physical ailment, it is an emotional space. You get the same feeling when you play hooky (or otherwise escape) from school; the world has this strange sheen about it that says “you probably shouldn’t be seeing all this.” I found it impossible to have much fun when I managed to pull off a missed school day. I was too wracked by guilt, and honestly, I wasn’t that much of a student, meaning I’d end up even more behind.
But sickness, too, allows the infirmed a glimpse at an alternate reality, one where the beneficence of the world becomes temporarily unavailable. Even a quick walk to the car to fetch a lost belonging becomes a monumental task of abject misery. It’s like that scene in “Beetlejuice” where Alec Baldwin steps out the door for 10 seconds, and Geena Davis tells him he was gone for three hours.
I’ve tried not to mention getting sick in this blog. There’s nothing more boring, more worthy of skimming to the pictures, than someone lamenting their virus. Plus, I was really sick last year at the exact same time with similar disclaimers, so it’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like (my body has an overwhelming allergy to) Christmas. But today I could barely talk, coughing up reams of horrifying crap, and even writing this sentence is taking all the late-anaphase mitosis I can muster.
I would, however, like to thank the following products:
1. Robitussin PM