Finnegan has been home for reading week and is hogging the bathroom as well as the television. And apparently, spreading around masses of germs.
Howard Hughes had it easy. Lately, Fort Awesome has become a breeding ground for germs and disease and mucous. My God! The mucous! You wouldn't believe me if I told you, but I'm going to tell you anyway. I'm going to tell you, and by God, I hope you listen. Because it's going to happen to you one day.
My body is shaking like I've got rickets. And hey, maybe I do, son, maybe I do. When the sweat rolls down your forehead after a few minutes of strenuous sitting, you know you're in for it. You might as well hunker down beneath a few hundred blankets, a pail for vomitus at your side and the detritus of the truly sick on the bedside table. And that pack of Halls is kids stuff. If you're chowing down on Halls and Vicks lozenges, you aren't truly sick. Bring me the Fisherman's Friends, ma. Horror of horrors, the bottle of Buckley's has found its way out of the fridge and into my hands. I'm thinking of downing the whole bottle.
That's not a sign of illness, it's a sign of impending death.
Parental Unit 2 brought the offending virus from work. Cleaning up after 800 screaming ankle-biters all day, every day might have something to do with the sickness on the homefront.
Kids are always sick, and they're always putting their scabby, germ-laden hands on things. He's around them all the time, picking up their snotty kleenexes, wiping the sneeze residue off their desks, breathing the same infected air and of course, sluicing the barf off the gym floor.
When I was in elementary school, he was the custodian. One day, I ralphed my breakfast all over my desk and surrounding deskular area. Oatmeal, y'all. I'm just saying. Anyway, my dad had to clean it up. Good times, good times.
But back to my impending germaphobia.
We're all sick. It started slow, this illness that has us in its grip. But now that the early stages of polite coughing and a nagging feeling of dragginess have passed, we're into the full-blown, viral infection, phlegmy, achey, "Sweet-Jesus, my NOSTRILS are in so much pain! My Kingdom for some Vaporub! I will PAY you to stop hacking like that" stage of the illness.
Finnegan will be leaving today and is quite pleased with himself that he managed to shake the damn thing before mid-terms. I would be jealous and possibly spiteful, but I can't work up the energy. Also, because I know what's ahead and would like to kick his ass for bringing this pox upon our house.
When everybody is sick, we drag around and bad moods fester and rot until they're pissy moods. The sympathy has high tailed it for Vegas, while the fear and the loathing settle in for a lengthy stay.
And there's more napping, which would be good if I didn't wake up with one nasal passage blocked and the other clear, causing me to make that annoying *SNRRRRRKKKK* noise. Man, I hate that noise.
Right now, my brain is leaking from my ear. Probably because my nasal passages have a ton of cotton blocking the exits. Or at least, that's what it feels like. My eyes are watering, my throat is sore, I'm achey and I have a headache that makes even the simple act of typing this entry feel like I'm beating a tympani drum right next to my ear. If there was a pill to quell the feeling of impending death, I would take it. I would take it, and thousands others like it.
I've tried all my usual remedies, and I think this one is just going to have to run its course. But that's hard to do when you spend the day around other people with the same damn problem. We keep giving it to each other. Like a game of hot potato. Only with more phlegm.
I am watching: NOTHING! Do you want to know why? Because curling is on television. Curling. Next to golf, the world's most boring sport.
I am feeling: Pleased with the new design. Wow. Amazing what a coat of paint can do for a diary, huh? I liked the last design, but it was really dark and hard to read on my monitor and though I liked it, it wasn't really what I was picturing for this website. This is. Also, I'm feeling ill.
I am craving: Hot cocoa. With little marshmallows.
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