I get sick every September. It’s happened each year now for six years, so by my estimation it’s officially an annual tradition, much like having my teeth scaled; I know it’s coming and dread until it’s over. Common sense informs me that the teenagers I teach are the source of my illness; I interrupt my teaching after every sneeze and kleenex filling to remind them the hand sanitizer foam is on the corner of my desk, but the autumn plague seems unavoidable.
Because irony chases me like bloodhounds after a rather brain-addled fox, my annual virus found me Friday. By the end of the school day, my throat was scratchy. Dinner found me struggling to swallow and searching my bag for Advil (I had one lone tablet, because I was so very prepared). By the time The Electrician and I arrived in Jasper late Friday night, I felt so awful that I could not force myself to go out for a drink with our friends. Instead, I had a hot shower and slept like the dead until morning.
The rest of the weekend has been filtered through the haze of Advil Cold and Sinus, which The Electrican snuck out Saturday morning to find for me. He’s a gooder. Since I had to take the maximum dose to cope with my symptoms today, he also had to drive the more than four hours home instead of us sharing the driving as usual. I am afraid I was less fun than I would have liked to be this weekend.
This is the kind of viral thing where my face, ears, and throat are pressured right up, and my head feels as big as a ripe watermelon. I’ve taken as many Advil Cold and Sinus tablets as I can while still maintaining a pulse, so it seems I’m in this for the long haul. With any luck, I’ll fight this thing off within a few days and be perky yet again.
In the meantime, thanks for dropping by to listen to me whine.
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