Okay, for the nine readers I’ve got for today, I’m going to tell you this: I motherfucking PRAY you don’t get as sick as I just did for the last six days. What a god damned disaster. I’ve held off discussing my diseases on here – if you can believe it – only telling you guys half the time I come down with something, because it would make me look like an open wound bawling at the fucking sky. But THIS one took THE FUCKING CAKE.
Six days, in bed, with my sinuses and eyeballs on fire, migraines that would induce projectile vomiting, a perforated eardrum, trying desperately to chomp down antibiotics like Augmentin and Omnicef. The nights got so bad I turned to Tussionex, a Vicodin-laced cough suppressant that doubled as a fucking PSYCHOTROPIC HALLUCINOGEN.
One teaspoon of that shit, and I was writhing in a hot sweat, dreaming that I was back in high school, cornered by all 99 of my classmates, where they demanded to know why I had a crush on Sharon F., and what was so special about me that would make her like me back… all right in front of Sharon. Then I witnessed my little dog Lily get stuck in a tube where we couldn’t help her, and had to say goodbye. This shit went on ALL NIGHT. SIX NIGHTS.
It wasn’t until this morning, when I woke up in New York and heard an actual robin chirping, that I believed I’d ever be well again. I have lost six pounds, and my eyes have black circles under them. I walk around, hollowed out, looking at all the beautiful scenery thinking “I wish I were here.”
No remedies, no immune boosters, I’m tired of all that fucking shit. Here’s the deal: Lucy gets something from every toddler at her preschool, and brings it home. She gets over it in 24 hours, and I get over it in 144. I can’t make her wash her hands every time I see her, and I can’t carry around a fucking bottle of Purell. Jesus, it’s probably not even her. Forget scapegoating my daughter; I’m just a gaping, needy, vortex of mucous cells that CRY OUT FOR INFLUENZA.
I’m at the end of my rope with this fucking shit. I used to be depressed, then despondent, now I’m just ANGRY. I refuse to be Polly Prissypants, walking around my own home wearing a bactericidal mask, having Howard Hughes-like soups prepared in a sterile dish. WHAT the FUCK.
Anyway, have a happy Memorial Day. Healthy motherfuckers.