Your love is like Dayquil and Nyquil as meal replacements
Sad Realities 2022: Google rolling out Air Raid Alerts app for Ukraine
Today I identify as sweaty sheets
HER: I feel bad for asking, but would you help me put this necklace on?
HIM: Don't feel bad, it makes me feel like I'm strangling you. I like it.
I just saw a picture of Robert Plant, with what can only be described as a sort of impotent man bun.
It really has me questioning many things about my life, loves, and goals.
Forward, Back, or left?
We're very pleased around here that Mrs. lefty remembered the time change. My mom used to call and remind us, but that ain't happening again. Is this a female thing, cuz I certainly didn't know it. She went around the house, changing the clocks. Then she realized she changed them in the wrong direction, so she went around the house, changing the clocks again. The positive parts of this is that all the clocks that didn't get changed last time are now correct, like the car. Oh no, wait, I just fixed the car, so I'll have to re-fix it again.
Starve a cold? Feed a fever? Shovel the food in regardless?
I felt weird(er) last night, and gave it some Serious Thought<tm>. Then I gave it some Serious Digital Thermometer. My temperature was either 94, 99.8, or 105 depending on where I took it. I'm thinking this isn't acceptable, because Medicine tends to operate a bit more accurately. I have electronic test equipment like this; where one component will have three values, depending on which meter I use. I don't think it's helpful in either case. The following morning, it was several different readings also, so I called in the Big Guns: WIFE. Mothers and Wifes have a magic ability to get past several different readings and cut to the chase: "You've got a fever, oh yes, I'll get some aspirin." It makes me feel sorry for bachelors... they have to visit their mom or another woman to figure out if they have a temperature.
My medical knowledge can fit in the (non-existent) ashtray of a new car, but my understanding is that the body raises its temperature in order to kill the infection. If this is true, why do we take fever reducers? I have a vague memory of not feeling well, going to the hospital, having my temp taken, and the nurse saying, "104, time to panic." Fortunately I was seeing things and in my own little universe, so I didn't truly grok the reality of rectally-installed aspirin. I'm just not that kinda guy.
Being some sort of sick ironically provides some relief, in chores and Stuff needed to be done round the house. I have an excuse for not doing things, as opposed to Fat and Lazy, which is my go-to. Obviously I have a job too. In another weird irony, I don't like to miss work, and will generally work until my head crashes down on the keyboard (from passing out or sheer boredom). If you remember, I have to be forced to take vacation days, or I lose them. I'm at my desk like Bernie Sanders is thinking of more 'free' things to 'give' people. If I take off, my boss gets worried, because he knows it must be serious. He figures I'll be there long after I retire and possibly after I die. So with 9,457 accumulated sick days, it's pretty much up to me.
As best I can tell, I got sick out of spite, or to break up the boredom.
Next day: I heard my alarm go off, so it was Decision Time. Mrs. lefty said STAY HOME. I didn't want to go 'in' because I might get my team sick (we all work from home).
I have no idea what's happening, but I seem to be cycling between 'I'm feeling eh' and 'OMFG, every hair on my body hurts,' We've all had days when it's been difficult getting up, but this puts an interesting twist on it.
ME: Ok, I need to get it together to call out sick.
Also ME: Ouch. Ouch. Ouch. Ouch. Ouch.
HER: What did you do?
ME: Tried to open my eyes.
HER: It sounds awful.
ME: You probably want to leave - I have to try to get out of bed.
HER: What is that noise? It sounds like the radio. Do you have the radio on?
ME: You can hear that? That's each individual body hair, reporting in, in pain.
You know I have my phone set so nobody calls. It's a gift.
So naturally this morning, I became very popular. The Tree Guy wanted to come out to cut off some dead tree. I asked him to check on the dead area over my neck, but he said that would be another estimate. I told him to come on by, then spent then next 45 minutes trying to figure out how to get out of bed and leave his payment on the door. Fortunately Mrs. lefty was up and said she'd take care of it. Well, if she'd take care of it, why was *I* getting the calls? Come to think of it, she seems very excited when he comes out. I was too sick to care.
I think this guy uses lasers or something - the last time he took down two trees and I never heard him.
So it was back to bed.
RADIO: Arm hair #22476, pain
Back hair #43720, pain
Nose hair #77345, pain
ALL HAIL- we have a 90 degree turn to portward, sometime in the next 90 minutes.
This went on for half an hour.
I was up at the decent hour of 3pm, regardless of spring ahead, fall backward, or 'change the fscking clock.' I can tell the time is correct when 2 clocks match. This after all the hairs checked in again; I was on the Pain part of the cycle, but at least it only took an hour to get out of bed. The dog is sympathetic, or at least I think so. She's heavy-lidded, napping on her mommy's new pillow. It's not like I didn't take her to the vet when we suspected cancer.
I'm hungry. I can tell by my stomach, which gave up growling when I ignored it, and is now singing loudly. I think it's Joe Cocker. The problem here is that we're completely out of candy bars. We have lots of soup, but it has to be heated. This is not do-able, as it hurts to think of it. The dog is still refusing to heat anything for me. I'd go back to sleep, but the singing would keep me awake.
It's 4am, I'm sweaty, and I don't want to remain sleeping. I think I need a Coke (my needs are few and simple, not counting the guitars that cost more than my house). After only 45 minutes, I manage to haul myself out of bed, not even using the winch, or any of the other high-powered equipment in the bedroom, but now's not the time to go into that. My body hair is at only 50% hurting; I think this is a good omen. In the living room, all is normal at 5am: the dog is comfy and asleep on the couch, and the wife is 'cleaning'' like mad. When I say 'cleaning,' I mean something like a modified pinball game. You pull the lever, which launches the ball, which bangs around and goes DING a lot, all over the place. So if you took the balls and made them explode, leaving a lot of debris all over the place, you'd have her 'cleaning.' Bathroom: DING, explosion, debris. Kitchen: DING, explosion, debris. Normal people would look at the procedure and say 'that's not cleaning - it's creating more dirt.' This is why they're normal people and don't live at lefty Manor. The dog can't take any more following her mommy all over the place, so she remains asleep.
I got my Coke, and sat up for a bit. The tv was on, as it always is, and I was astounded at the lineup of alleged shows. It was so bad, my brain protected me by making me forget it. Mrs lefty continued her cleaning, this time leaving debris in the basement. I had noticed her eventually sitting on the couch, quickly followed by her falling forward and snoring on the couch. You can't fool me, so I suggested maybe she go to bed. She completely ignored me, so I knew everything was normal. This continued for an hour or so, then I went to bed. The doctors told me arguing will only raise my blood pressure, as Mrs. lefty does not observe many of the laws of physics. My favorite is when she goes to sleep with her head 4" above the pillow.
When my alarm went off, I was assured I still had a fever, but only 25% of my body hair hurt. I took this as a good sign, calling out of work another day. By 4pm, the next time I got up, my body hair didn't hurt at all. It only took me 30 minutes to plan and execute getting out of bed. I kept pulling at my body hair, trying to make it hurt, just in case, but it wouldn't. As my wife had finally made it to bed, after only 3 days of not sleeping, she snored. And when I say snored, I mean it sounded like there was heavy construction and tearing up the street in front of the house. She stopped, asked if I felt ok, and I asked to check my temperature. I'm not going to say she was tired, but she said ok, then fell asleep with her arm halfway to my forehead.
According to the wacky thermometer, my temperature was either 32, 98.5, or 98.6. I found out if you add them and take the square root, you have way too much time on your hands. As two of the results were pretty close, I was fever-less! So at 4pm, I finally had my morning coffee. The dog loves coffee, but smartly stayed in bed, where she is somehow able to ignore her mommy's use of heavy equipment.
To top it off, Mother Nature decided to get even with me by making the last two days absolutely beautiful. Walk around without a coat beautiful. To show you how glad I am to be getting over being sick, I almost look forward to taking out the trash. Slow down, lefty. As a warmup, I might put my shoes on and get the mail.
It should be interesting when Wife gets up, which could be any time within the next few days. It looks like while cleaning the fridge, the BANG happened, and the debris was a shelf, which spilled its contents onto the floor. Have you ever had a shelf expel its cold contents onto the floor, possibly throwing them at you? Half the powdered creamer is now on the floor, spelling out HELP ME. We now have purple silverware. And someone finally found my toothbrush. It tends to stray, but this time it got moved during cleaning and no one knew where. At least they took the cereal out of the fridge. When Wife finally wakes up, she's going to ask what happened and who made the mess. I think I need motion-sensitive cameras in the house.
I tried to keep my activity to a minimum, like I do every day, but this time I have a reason; not getting re-sick. So I only took the trash out and carried stuff all over the house. This might not have been a smart idea, like running a marathon without a leg. Here's another phrase you don't hear often: I can't wait to go to work tomorrow.
No comments:
Post a Comment