I tempted fate last week. Someone was in my office and they coughed their dreaded Ebola cough and they backed up, saying they didn't want me to become any sicker than I already was. I joked that I was on so many meds, I could lick a hooker.
Turns out, I CAN get sick. Just not with anything massive amounts of Azithromyicin or Amoxicillin cures. Apparently, that still leaves quite a few germs.
It started Friday, with a massive sore throat, and some sinus issues. I assumed the yellow pollen sheen on the car windshield was to blame, and went through the day, popping allergy pills.
By 9 pm on the day of my Big Event at work, I was done. DONE done. As in, holy-shit-bring-the-car-to-me-and-I-may-need-a-hand-never-mind-that-a-forklift done. I knew Saturday would be Sofa City, so I braced for the worst.
I managed to hack, sputter, and cough my way through Saturday, and Sunday (Mother's Day). Still, no relief. By Monday, I was officially on the injured-reserve list.
Tuesday, I realized the Lyme symptoms were at their worst, and accepted that I was herxing on top of whatever virus was using my immune system as a flophouse. Or my body was just plain rebelling against my desire to be old-me instead of new-and-improved-do-nothing me. I was 2/3 of the way through a bottle of cough suppressant (New! Non-Drowsy Formula, Same Toilet Bowl Taste!) and every time I coughed I screamed obscenities. But if you add in the glorious dizziness about 1/2 hour into a swig, things could not be brighter. Except that I was running into stair banisters and doorways, not unlike high school but without the perky boobs.
To top it off, every time I would cough, Monkey Boy give me the I'm-worried-about-my-mom look. So I keep reassuring him it's just a virus, I'm getting better, it's a tickle in my throat. And Princess? She's running around being Princess, which is plenty for us all, but in overdrive. At my work fundraiser, she spent most of the night selling things that didn't belong to her as well as some that did, all for "charity". When she ran out of merchandise, she went for the straight beg, telling people she was collecting money for "people who don't have any" and "people with Lyme Disease, because they could DIE!!!".
I pulled her aside and told her I was not dying, and we talked for a while about her fears and my health a bit. It broke my heart just a little. But back to the sit-com that is my life.
On the upside, my DVR has never been clearer. And I'm finally getting my money's worth on Netflix. Also I am pretty certain oatmeal isn't fattening.So there's that.
Still in the deep in the dark recesses of me, there is a little bit of old me left. The one that wants to do, over-do, re-do. She lurks, waiting for a moment to peek her little overcompensating head out, assess the situation, and over-work it to death. She got her moment late Tuesday, as I perused the offerings of Netflix.
:::cue angels singing their joyous chorus:::
There it was.
5 seasons of Mad Men.
What? You know not of Mad Men? Well, gather up a bunch of lying distasteful drunks, play horns in the background, add drama, and there you have it. Except make it addicting to watch, regardless of how hateful everyone is. It's like Desperate Housewives, with an education.
:::me, swooning over Don Draper:::
I had heard about the show, heard about the awards, the accolades. So I jumped in, and old Aimee saw her opening. Her opportunity to work something to death. catching up on the series is a full-time job. I think I will need 3 more days of illness to finish off what's left of the series. But then I will have to detox. Maybe a fat farm.
As it is, they smoke and drink so much in the show, I'm afraid my cirrhosis is acting up, and I am sure I now have emphysema. But it's worth it.
So tell me--when did it become inappropriate to have your children mixing drinks for you on bridge night?