All that and a bag of chips…

February 20, 2009 at 3:17 pm (That's not funny..., The Easy Chair)

I think it’s getting better. Fingers crossed, legs uncrossed for a change.

Like the Disturbed song, I been Down With The Sickness.

For the last couple of weeks I’ve been hearing about how everyone was feeling like crap, ugh, etc… I’m out in public all the time, am exposed to all kinds of crud, germs, plagues. I have a hearty immune system, but once or twice a year something gets through.

This week, it was my turn.

It is not my mission to gross you out, so I will try to breach the indelicacies carefully. Let’s see, suppose I use weather metaphors?

The front moved in Tuesday morning. I thought I could withstand the onslaught, but halfway through my workshift I was running to the bathroom every hour. It started with upper level turbulence and thunderstorms to the south, followed by flash floods. Yikes! I made it through the shift, but went home and straight to bed. If conditions didn’t improve, I would not be working Wednesday. If fact, I’d already called off Wednesday, telling the boss I’d call him if I felt better. I didn’t, but called anyway. Not gonna do it.

I spent almost all of Wednesday in bed. Thursday was no better. I called in again. Unless hospitalized, I never miss two days in a row. Funny thing, I felt guilty about not being at work. Must be a throwback from the drinking days; if I was too immobilized to go to work, copious amounts of alcohol were usually to blame. I felt hungover, but wasn’t. (Haven’t had alcohol since last May.) I cringed at the thought of my bank account taking the hit. I can’t afford to miss two days of work. It’s like the cosmos knows when I have a little extra money, and conspires to rid me of it. And lastly, I like to save all my sick time/bonus points for when I really need it: Hangovers.

Other than laying about, (when I wasn’t en route to the porcelain room) I watched basketball. I’m getting into the NBA more than usual this year. Saw the Blazers play in real time. Watched my favorite east coast teams meet with upsets. Had all kinds of time to read or watch movies, but couldn’t foster up any more energy than it took to roll over and go back to sleep. I think I’ve slept 48 hours in the last three days.

My work week is over, but it’s payday. If I want money for the weekend, I need to go take care of paperwork. Grr… I decided to make a test trip; if I survive that, I might make a run downtown.

Part of the problem is I haven’t been eating much. (For one thing, the mere thought of food leaves me squirming.) But… I need to replace some of what’s been going out, and the pantry is bare of anything remotely copacetic with my innards. My insides feel like a rusty tin can that has been used as a urinal, and every time I burp it tastes like a combination of mold sweetened with sugar and cream. Not the time for microwave burritos…

So, I bundled up and went to Freddy’s. The weather is gorgeous outside, everyone was smiling. Most days I’d be smiling, hitting on the single shoppers. Hell, I’d already have been downtown and back once by now. I prowled the aisles, finding stuff that wouldn’t aggravate the insides. As I wandered, everything started looking good. I managed to cram $50 worth of groceries into two shopping bags, and made it home without any embarrassing incidents.

It’s been two more hours, and still no rumblings, cramps or emergency dashes to the porcelain room. If another half-hour goes by and I’m still okay, it’s off to town to get some more sunshine, air and exercise. Oh, and money. I’ve still got the better part of a three-day weekend to deal with, and I’d kinda like to get into mischief tomorrow night…

But first? I have a big bag of barbecue kettle chips staring me down. WTF. I’ve lost enough weight the last few days…

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