Sick Day Saturday

For the past few days, I’ve woken up coughing so hard my lungs give out. My head pounds, my throat burns, and my chest aches from the effort of clearing whatever’s settled into my chest. Some days I have a fever, most days I do not. Unfortunately, I don’t have pneumonia, bronchitis, a flu, or anything else that might make my brain feel justified for feeling this bad, and being down for this long.

I have a cold. A measly, run of the mill cold, which is sapping my energy and driving me bananas.

Today, a bright, calm Saturday, was supposed to be a day filled with baseball practices, eye appointments, and hopefully a trip to pluck some amazing strawberries at Froberg’s Farm. This cold has other ideas, though. Baseball was canceled due to rain, thank the Good Lord in Heaven. I canceled my eye appointment based on the fact that coughing in an optometrist’s face could be considered biological warfare. Nothing like him saying, “Which one is clearer, A or B?” and getting a spray of icky cold germs for his efforts.

When I called the receptionist and pushed my appointment to next week, offering only a lame, “I need to reschedule my eye appointment,” she responded with, “I hope you feel better soon!”

Clearly my voice and hacking gave the reason away.

… I wonder if she busted out the can of Lysol after talking to me.

I would have.

In fact, as I sit here typing, there came a knock at the door (and now I’m reciting “The Raven” in my head). It was a salesman, selling something. Energy, telephones, television, alarm systems. These people troll my neighborhood on a regular basis, and they are the most stubborn people to get rid of. I opened my door, because for some reason, in my sick state, I wondered if my mom or sister had decided to stop by.

Now that I have time to give it thought, no one wants to catch this bug. Have I mentioned I’ve been waking up coughing for days? The cough doesn’t get better over time. It gets worse to the point where I’m nearly retching, so I lay down and try to enter a sleep-coughing state, after chugging Allegra, Mucinex, two teaspoons of honey (I don’t know why, but it’s working), and a cup of hot tea–with more honey. After the cough subsides to the point where I’m coughing every 2-3 minutes, instead of every 1-2 seconds, I push myself into a sitting position, and remain in a half-upright state for most of the day.

When the knock came, and I mistook it for someone who cared, I opened the door and poked my head into the glass screen. It was a large man, wearing his “I’m going stand here and pester you into buying whatever services I’m selling” t-shirt, complete with clipboard. He opened his mouth to give his sales pitch when I croaked out, “I’m not interested.”

Maybe it was the pale of my face, the purple bags under my eyes, the thready words that ended on a coughing spiel, or the fact that I haven’t brushed my hair or changed clothes in three days, but home slice couldn’t bug out quick enough.

I don’t blame him. There are cracks around the glass, and I coughed pretty good.

… I wonder if he ran to his car to disinfect his entire body? Cuz–not going to lie–I would have after meeting me.

Also, when my HOA sent me a text message today that stated, “We need to discuss your delinquent account,” I stared at the message, typed out a cheerful, “Hey, thanks for the reminder!” message, and then coughed all over the check as I wrote it.

So, it wasn’t exactly on purpose, but I mean, I didn’t turn my head away like I normally would, wash my hands three times before I touched the check and envelope, or wet the envelope with a towel instead of my germ-infested tongue. They need to discuss my delinquent account? The same people who send me snarky messages about removing ONE weed from the crack in my sidewalk, or send me threats to fine me when my neighbor parks his trailer in front of my house? The same people who take my money and invest it in a marquis instead of cement that will fix the dang pothole killing my tires?

Ya’ll want to play, let’s play: germ style.

Today, though, Tiny has declared he wants to lay in bed. I could be pushing him into building Legos, chasing puppies around the backyard, or using one of his excavation kits to learn about archaeology or paleontology. Instead, I’m letting him roll around in my bed watching some YouTube family with eighteen kids talk about their Halloween costumes (seriously, the man walks around filming his kids eating snacks, WTF?) while I drink coffee and type this impromptu blog–which is more like a discordant rambling, but whatever.

This is, officially, Sick Day Saturday. No plans, no order, no rules.

Hell, I may eat ice cream for lunch–which I deserve to choke down between coughing fits. I’ll plan for next Saturday, where we’ll do baseball practices and eye appointments. Today, though, I’m going to play on my phone while Tiny plays on his, rot my brain with useless drivel (like the newest trend of boycotting stores that label their clothing boy and girl, which I’ll write about soon), and eat loads of nutritionless crap.

Because I’m sick, and I can.

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No comments posted on March 25, 2017 in Life, Winging It, Mom Style

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