Why not have some fun when you’re sick?

I’ve been trying to embrace my recent illness and I came up with an idea to exploit the entertaining aspects of the cold virus. Here are a few suggestions for turning this bug into a barrel of monkeys:

• Create an independent film based on your fever dreams. For example, I dreamt that I was supposed to pick a friend up at the McDonald’s parking lot, but road raged idiots blocked my access to the driveway, so I had to park across the street at ramshackle strip mall that once housed a Gold Circle but now (in my dreams) it was a fly-by-night horror house. I parked Mr. Lawrence and got out. I wandered among the Goths who were there to view the scariest display in history. I got mixed up in the crowd and ended up in the lobby where this event was about to happen. The lobby had black walls and gray office carpeting. There were gray chairs with silver legs scattered about. Long black and white posters of Tor and Arte Johnson hung artfully around. I kept getting jostled to the entrance, but I was able to successfully avoid getting drawn in.
  
  Eventually, I got out of the horror place and back out into the parking lot. I tried to find my car, but it had been stolen. My phone was dead and I couldn’t take pictures of my uncle’s girlfriend because my camera wasn’t responding normally. I would push the button to snap the picture and the side of the camera would drop down and hang from a hinge. There was all of this impending doom with no pay off, all the ingredients for a critically acclaimed independent film.
• Employ selective hearing tactics and only hear what you want to hear. Claim later that your ears were clogged
• Drink NyQuil ‘til you see dwarves
• Take advantage of your raspy voice to win the karaoke contest at the local Holiday Inn. Here are some song suggestions:
  o Take Another Little Piece Of My Heart
  o Old Time Rock and Roll
  o Black Velvet
  o You Are So Beautiful To Me
• Create papier mache sculptures with used Kleenex
• Take bets on how many hot peppers you can eat. Because you can’t taste anything, you’ll win. Also, your sinuses may start to clear up
• Rest often, testing the sleepability of common surfaces like your keyboard, a park bench, a stranger on a bus, the various floors in your house. Create a report and present it to a liberal think tank and get grant funding for a sleep study.

Any other ideas?

Sniffle

God dammit! I've got a cold. Why me? I guess I could take better care of myself. I could go to bed at 10:00 p.m. every night. I could have a balanced breakfast with cereal, toast, OJ, and bacon. I could start my day with Tai Chi and face the world with a smile.

I could exercise more and go to church. Perhaps if I joined the Republican Party, I would be less suceptible to the cold virus. I assume holding the moral high ground would lift me up above the hoi polloi and remove me from the cocktail of viruses they expell when crying for help.

Perhaps I could relocate to the Arctic. Is it a myth that the cold virus can't survive there? I could go and find out. I could bring Jamie and Adam...

But this is all spilled milk. The fact is, I've got a cold now and none of the above will help me in this moment. Harrumph. Maybe I could draw some inspiration from an internet quote site:

• I could go passive aggressive with this one: A positive attitude may not solve all your problems, but it will annoy enough people to make it worth the effort. ~Herm Albright, quoted in Reader's Digest, June 1995
• I could go uber-chipper with this one: Wherever you go, no matter what the weather, always bring your own sunshine. ~Anthony J. D'Angelo, The College Blue Book
• But I think these reflect my personal philosophy best:
  
  If you don't like something change it; if you can't change it, change the way you think about it. ~Mary Engelbreit and
  
  He who has so little knowledge of human nature as to seek happiness by changing anything but his own disposition will waste his life in fruitless efforts. ~Samuel Johnson

So this cold I have? It's an opportunity for me to get off this crazy thing and spend some time looking after myself. I can soak in a long shower. I can watch some Melrose Place. I can put on fuzzy clothing and draw my family in close. I can let people take care of me and soak up some vitamans. I can beat this cold...I've done it before. But I'm not going to fight it this time. I'm going to revel in it.

Achoo.

The Devil's Own Cough

I have been suffering for a week now with the worst cough ever. It is like an involuntary spasm of coughing. There is a warning system which feels like a spider tickling the back of my throat and then I'm coughing uncontrollably. The cutest part of this whole deal is that it's worse at night so I can't really get a good night's sleep. I've been downing cough drops, cough suppressants and using an inhaler. But nothing seems to work. It's like either satan is fucking with me or God is punishing me. I can't figure out which. Oh, yeah...and sometimes I cough so hard, I pee a little bit, which is a real treat, let me tell you what.

I guess it's time to go to the doctor...

For As Much As I Got Done Last Weekend...

I must have taken two steps back this weekend. I finally got antibiotics for an upper respiratory infection that has haunted me for a month now. I've got a nagging cough and lagging energy. The mere prospect of tidying the children's room is exhausting. It's actually a many stepped process. You see, Lucy got a hold of some rolls and Hansel-and-Greteled the place as if she were planning on losing her way out.

Also, their playroom is a disaster. I know from their report cards that both of my children know how to tidy up after themselves. But upon my request that they go in there and straighten that room up, I get an Oscar award winning performance from a couple of would be miners who would rather do anything than go back down that dark shaft again, lest it cave in on them or give them the black lung. The minute I mention it, they break out the guitars and union protest songs until I give up and string crime scene tape across the door.

But I'm making progress. I got the dishes done, which were strewn from wall-to-wall. I ran the sweeper and made a path through crumb road. I got dressed. I fixed lunch, which brought high praise from my daughters. Riley called it the best lunch she'd ever had.

In between the small bursts of activity, we've lounged around watching TV all day. Fortunately, the neighbor girl invited Riley over and she's been there for a couple of hours now. By the way, Captain, your mother-in-law says "Hi!"

Wish me luck on my recovery. I've got half a Z-pack under my belt and things are looking and coughing up. Maybe by Wednesday I'll feel like myself again. Until then...go clean your room!

Favorite Movies of My Home Town

I was heading over to Netflix to browse through the "instant" movies (just add water) and I was faced with a new welcome page, which presented selections I might like based on what I've already viewed. I wasn't surprised by most of the recommendations until I scrolled to the bottom of the page and I saw the five movies that are favorites of my neighbors. I tried to do a screen shot, but it sucked. So I'll just list the movies the people around me love:

• Pistol Whipped, (3 stars) featuring Steven Segal, described as a "martial arts thriller"
• The Shepherd, (3.1 stars) featuring Jean Claude Van Dam, described as an "action thriller"
• Underdog, (3.5 stars), featuring Jason Lee, described by critic Nell Minnow, "There may be no need to fear now that Underdog is here, but there is no reason to feel very happy, either," which is just as I suspected
• Mission Impossible III (3.5 stars). Ugh
• The Invisible (3.4 stars), featuring has beens and never was's, an exploration of limbo (not the dance, sadly, rather the state of being pretty much dead)

I'm not exactly sure what to think about this list. I mean, what does it say about us as a municipalitiy? How can Underdog be among any city's favorites? Although, maybe now that I'm on some serious cough medicine, I might enjoy it. Is that the key? Is this whole town on drugs? What does this list say about my home town?

I'm Special

Last Thursday, I went to my doctor to get the results of routine tests. He declared that I had the healthy body of a 12 year old girl. I wanted to reply, but didn't, "Are you sure that was my blood?" Instead, I just grinned and thanked him for giving me a clean bill of health. It had been a long time since I've had a check-up and I hadn't realized how much I was worrying about my health. I felt like a load had been lifted.

He told me the only reason he'd need to see me is if I needed to see him. Then he announced I was to receive a pneumonia shot and whisked himself out of the room dashingly. A nurse came in and to give me the shot right in my upper arm muscle. We chatted about mundane things and then I was free to go. I practically skipped to my car with the lift the good news had given me.

I was also giddy because, I had decided to take a vacation day on Friday. I was looking forward to three and a half days of carefree leisure time. I spent the morning with the kids and around noon, I prepared to go to the Salvation Army and to see my therapist; it was a day to unload baggage of the real and metaphorical type. I took ten bags of clothes and dropped them off. Then I went inside and got Doc five pairs of pants and two vests for 30 bucks. The pants were all very nice and barely worn and labeled by the likes of the Gap, Levis, Eddie Bauer, Calvin Klein, and DKNY.

After I went to my therapist, I made my way home and spent a pleasureable afternoon hanging out with my family. Then, around five o'clock, I started to feel like all of my energy was sliding out of me through the bottoms of my feet. I went to lie down for an hour and woke up feeling a bit better. At around 9:00 p.m., we put the kids to bed and Doc went to the neighbor's house while I settled in with a book. I was laying on the couch reading for a couple of hours when I heard Riley get up and make her way to my room. I worried that she would get there and be upset that no one was in there, so I got up and joined her.

I needn't have worried, as she walked to our bedroom, climbed into Doc's side of the bed and cuddled up without ever waking up, it seemed. By the time I got to the bedroom, a definate chill had set into my bones. I popped in a DVD of All Creatures Great and Small and snuggled under our many blankets (one down comforter, one regular comforter, a wool army blanket, a quilt and flannel sheets) and tried to get warm. It wasn't happening. I waited to warm up for about an hour and called the neighbor's house to summon Doc home. My hands were shivering so dramatically, I could barely dial the number.

When Doc got home, I was in a near panic. I probably should have gone to the emergency room. But once I was warmed up with the extra body heat in the bed, I felt much better and was able to sleep. However, the next morning I woke up with the same problem, plus now my upper arm that took the shot hurt like it had been slammed in a steel door. I called my doctor and told him what was going on and that it had to be from the shot. He got defensive and said that they've given the shot to over 200 people and no one ever had this reaction. He avered that it couldn't be from the shot and told me to take two ibuprofen and leave him the fuck alone on the weekend. Well, he didn't say that last part, but it was implied. He told me if it got worse, I should go to the ER.

When I told my parents about this exchange, my Dad commented that a half percent of the people who have taken the shot have suffered, meaning me. After a scant two minutes searching on the internet, I found this out about the nefarious pneumonia shot:

A few people (less than 1 percent) had fever and muscle pain as well as more serious swelling and pain on the arm.

My Dad, he's a smart one. Each day, the swelling has grown and the fevers persist. The area where the shot was givin is now about three inches sqare and is hot enough to fry an egg on. I can't lift my left arm at the shoulder because of the pain that radiates out from my upper arm to the middle of my back. I'm still periodically getting fevers, but a little Tylenol at the right moment has helped me to avoid the chills.

So, the thrill is gone from my clean bill of health and the honeymoon is over with my new and once beloved doctor. I'm going to try to plow through this on my own, but I'd love to march into his office and reveal the blazing after effects of his alleged harmless shot. If today passes with more fevers and continued pain, I might just do that. In the meantime, I'll try to find a way to blame this all on Mel Gibson. Any suggestions?

These Bright Stars Are Bummed

And so am I, frankly. On top of my recent bout with bronchitis, I've also been struggling with Major Depression. Since Zach and Mandy have stepped forward and announced they both have been struggling with minor depression, I have gained the courage and strength to step forward too. I'm getting help through pharmaceuticals as well as counseling.

In the past, medication has always helped me get back on track and counseling has done zippo. So, I attended my first counseling session on Monday with trepidation and found it surprisingly helpful. Karen has given me some tips to help me reduce my stress levels and I thought I'd post them here for Zach and Mandy and you, though they may not apply to everyone as not everyone spends 3 hours in the car commuting to work each day, nor do they have children. If neither of those apply to you, you probably won't need these hints. But then again, maybe you might. Here are my stress reducers:

• Turn my car into a luxurious sanctuary, such that I can't wait to get in it each morning.
• Bring some fruit and some protein to eat along the way for energy.
• Do not listen to the news.
• Listen to books on tape.
• Introduce some scents such as pine into the car (pine is a stimulant).
• Don't talk on the cell phone.
• Get my children on a bedtime schedule where they are tucked in by 8:30 p.m. so that I won't be tempted to push back my bed time to get some me time or some me and Doc time.
• Add up my salary plus benefits to see what I'm really making at my job.
• Go for short walks during the day to get some exercise and some sunshine.
• Laugh more. Even if it means laughing for no reason at all.

So far, I've tried a few of these things and they are helping. But i'm still having trouble with the laughter. And here is where you guys come in. If I'm going to laugh more, you all are going to have to raise the bar and make everything you write funnier. I'm a tough crowd these days so you will need to aim high. Think of all the help you will be giving people like me and Zach and Mandy by just going that extra mile and stretching your funny bone till it hurts. I've thrown down the gauntlet; will you accept the challenge?

But I Have So Much To Say...

I am under doctor's orders to stay home and get better. I am suffering from accute bronchitis, and boy is it adorable ::rim shot:: He gave me a flu shot in the arm and a cortizone shot in the butt. I have a double z-pack of antibiotics and Alavert. But the best part of all is my giant bottle of robutussin with codiene in it and my two-day order to stay home from work.

Wish me well as I waste away in bed.

Hello Darkness, My Old Friend

So, depression has crept its way back into my life again, like old high school acquaintences who hang around and you don't notice until they say something completely inappropriate or hurtful. And you respond, "Oh, it's you again, great."

I noticed its presence when, on a bathroom break at work today, I said to myself, "Fuck this job, I think I'll just quit and let someone else take over for me." Meanwhile, my inner Spock perks his ears and says, "Well, you do have two children, a husband, and a cat to provide for, remember?" Yep, thanks Spock, where would I be without you? A dead-beat mom trying to make it as a writer and Texas Hold-em pro. Fortunately, I don't really drink, so my inner Spock is usually the clearest voice in my head, as opposed to my inner Sid Vicious, let's say.

I've been desparately trying to reach any of three people this morning who could help me tackle the dementors in my brain and I finally got a hold of Scotland (the man, not the nation). He and I lead parallel lives: he is also the sole bread-winner of a family of four (two kids still in diapers). I feel much better and less self-hate with regard to my melancholy after speaking with him as we have similar lives and to have a common misery at least takes the sting out of depression. I am not alone, therefore, I am not mad. Thank you, Scotland, for the shoulder; much love to you.

I feel especially hard-hit by this gloom because I didn't really see it coming. I've been taking melatonin, a sleep hormone, and I have not been suffering from insomnia: the first flare that goes up signalling the advance of depression. I've just been on the edge of freak-out for the past week or so and haven't really seen it for what it was. So, yay, I'm depressed again. Start the anti-melancholia protocol, Mr. Spock; let's get this ship turned around.