It's true, I have a cold

There was no denying it.  My allergies had already been doing their best to incapacitate me this spring.  I couldn't pass it off ass the tree sniffles.  And if there was still a part of me in denial it certainly was shut up when as I made my way to the corner drugstore for supplies every muscle in my body was screaming that it made much more sense to be walking towards the bed because walking out the door surely meant death due to the plague that had invaded us.  If we, my body and I, fell we may not have the strength to rise again and didn't we risk quarantine by going out in public?

When I am ill my body becomes a drama queen.

My adult brain wants to find a way to medicate the living daylights out of my body so that we can go on and do all that we need to do.  There will be no sniffles stopping us!

My inner child wants hot soup, someone to brush my hair and read me stories.

I am now home.  I didn't die in the street.  I commenced negotiations and collectively I think we can agree we'd  like to be in bed, covers pulled up and asleep right now.

The compromise is I plan on working from my bedroom with cup of hot broth and my little box of sudafed at my side with an afternoon nap to follow.

Dinner and a song...

I am sick.  I am sick and I live alone.  I am sick and I live alone which means that certain things have to get done (like feeding the felines) and no one else is going to do them for me (like feeding myself).  So despite the fact that I’d like nothing more than to snug down under freshly laundered sheets (ah, there is another…laundry) with a hot cup of sweet honey lemon tea (oh, I’d have to make the tea too), I drag myself out of bed, dose myself with cold medicine (yeah, had to walk my sickly self to the store to get that too) and take care of whatever bit of business has to be done (like going to work to make enough money to pay the rent, feed said felines and self, wash the laundry and buy tea).

Not that I’m complaining.  In fact I take quite a bit of pride in the high level of self sufficiency I seem capable of maintaining even though I basically feel like my brain has been replaced with warm mashed potatoes,  my sinuses are stuffed full of cotton balls and my joints have taken on a second career in Jello imitation. 

And there is most definitely an upside.  For instance, the odd contortions that any woman performs when squeezing herself into a pair of ‘control top’ tights are made infinitely more unappealing when accompanied by the huffing, puffing grunt-like sounds made by me thanks my inability to breathe through my nose.   Speaking of noses, despite my regular use of Sudafed and soft lotion kissed tissues, mine is still bright red and sore and it whistles each time I exhale (a sound made only marginally less annoying by my newly discovered talent for nose whistling the Jeopardy theme).   I can choose to convalesce on the couch, or in bed, or in a bubble filled tub without fear of being in anyone’s way.  And there is no one around to try to convince me that a soup made of chicken broth, left over rice, Swiss chard and Frank’s Red Hot isn’t only tasty as all get out, but I’m pretty sure it’s the undiscovered cure for the common cold.

Yum.  Sluuuuurrrrppp…whistle.  Sluuuuuuuurp….whiiiiiiiiistle. 

Down with the Sick...

I've not blogged in a few days and that is due to my immune system being karate chopped in the vitals by some horrid virus.  I've been exhausted for a week and on the couch for two days.  In fact, I'm about the head for my bed again as I am E-X-H-A-U-S-T-E-D.  

Sleep now.