One of the teeny tiny benefits of having the H1N1 virus is the potential to score a narcotic cough suppressant prescription.
(Don’t judge me. I was as sick as a broke dick dog and I am completely unashamed of spending most of the last week in a narcotic haze. I would have entertained you with drug induced Twitter updates, but my head hurt too much when I forced it into the upright position.)
I had six straight days of fever and that is long enough to get into a sort of bizarre routine that revolves around medicating, hydrating, eliminating, and sleeping. When I’m sick I don’t like to be messed with. This means I like to be ALONE, in my bed, with the dog, with MSNBC playing at the precisely low volume of ten. Ten is the volume on my television which I can hear if I’m awake and paying attention, but not loud enough to prevent me from slipping off to sleep.
I’m still trying to get my groove back and part of my groove is figuring out what happened in the world while I sacrificed a week of my life to H1N1. I have the following snipits, gleaned while in a narcotic-ly induced semi-coma. I’m just really hoping I have some of this wrong.
Fever Day 1
Someone (I better not find you) dared to befoul the holy grail of automobiles, my new Volvo. Yes, it was egged. I was instantly and positively convinced that the perpetrator of this heinous crime was the same hateful thief that stole my Obama 08 sign last fall. I seem to remember rambling on and on and on about how my poor car had been unjustly targeted because it’s loving owner is an Obama-loving Democratic liberal. Somewhere in the middle of this memory is my husband’s voice saying, “Yeah, Kristi. It’s all about you. Did you not notice the egg shells strewn up and down the entire street? I’m fairly certain you’re the only Obama-loving Democratic liberal in all of Stepford, not to mention on our street, so I think your right wing conspiracy theory might have a few holes.”
Fever Day 2
Someone (I assume my husband) arranged for a wonderfully kind man to spend three hours in my garage detailing the outside of the Volvo. I remember that this man was tall, had olive skin, and seemed to be purposely keeping at least three feet between himself and me while we spoke. The Stepford Wife that resides in the deep recesses of my mind suggested that I shower and change my sweats prior to going back into the garage to discuss payment. I’m fairly certain I told that bitch to “shut up” prior to crawling back into the bed. When the nice egg eliminator knocked on the door for payment, he asked that I pay him via Paypal. It did not occur to me at the time that he might not want to touch a check on which I may have coughed.
Fever Day 3
I’m fairly certain that this is the day that I showered (which also makes this the last day that week I attempted such a foolish task), but did not take the time to wash my hair. This is also probably the day that the whore’s nest of a knot began behind my right ear. Unfortunately, I did not discover said whore’s nest of a knot for several more days and by that time—well, see below. This is also the day my mind begins to debate the benefits of accelerating my cough medicine dosage against the very real risk of running out of medication. Overdosing, strangely enough, never entered my mind. This is also the day I begin to believe that everyone in the blogosphere is wearing yellow ribbons until I return to my keyboard. I fantasize that Twitter will wait for me. I’m convinced there is a “Heal Kristi Stevens” group on Facebook.
