Just Shoot Me and Get It Over & Done With
You know one of those days when you just pray for a swift end?
The bone-deep fatigue that drags your cement shoes-hooved feet across a gritty floor? The invisible burden of Atlas crushing your shoulders towards the ground, compressing your chest and lending your gait the lithesome grace of Quasimodo? The woolly-headedness that creates fuzzy outlines around the frame of your vision?
Yesterday, in the midst of helping 3A Gurl and 3A Hubby move, I felt a sudden buffet of lightheadedness that necessitated the kind of lie-down you only associate with your mothball-smelling aunts. You know … the ones with the rubber bands holding up their stockings.
The flu that I had been trying desperately to fend off had struck back. Take that! Kaplunk.
I still managed to crawl my way to the nearest food court today to get some noodle soup. The alternative was to order in McDonalds … I’m ill but not that ill. And you know how the Fates just love to kick you when you are down? Well, I must be wearing a T-shirt with a bulls eye on it and an X marking the spot.
Shuffling home, I made the unpleasant discovery that the attentive food stall assistant had been suffering a condition that made the simple act of securing the lid of the soup-ladened carton a Herculean feat. Her dainty hand has failed to literally put a lid on it and I returned home with a bulgingly soggy bag and a semi-dry noodle soup.
It was almost too much to bear. This was not the first time this particular food stall assistant had committed this horrible crime. I hurried home as fast as I could with a hot, dripping bag feeling much like one of the geriatrics ambling along with their colostomy bags. Yes, horrible imagery. Misery loves company so suck it up.
I hate being ill. I can’t taste a thing when I am ill and eating becomes a chore because everything tastes like cupboard. I’m not sure if the food was really that bad today, which is odd since I’ve eaten from the same stall many times and it’s always been fairly decent, but the noodles were chewy and strangely elastic. I had a horrifying moment when I tried to bite through a strand of rice noodles and the thing bounced back and hit me in the face!
The soup was bland and I was perversely relieved that Miss Dainty Handed Stall Assistant had been so lazy. The only saving grace was the fresh fish. Even with my AWOL tastebuds, I could tell from the texture and look of the fish slices that they were not of the frozen variety.
Since eating was a bust, I decided that I would try to chase the flu away by chasing the chills away. Yes, I’ve been a shivering mess and not in a good way. So I set a pan of water on the stove, plonked some ginger and a cinnamon stick in and went for a short lie down as I waited for it all to brew.
Nothing … and I mean nothing ... OK, maybe a hot toddy or a warmed snifter of scotch whiskey … soothes and warms the body like ginger tea. With a heaping teaspoon of clover honey, my ginger and cinnamon tea made me feel almost human again. For a while anyway.
And now, excuse me as I go for a lie-down. Creak.
Categories - Call Me Others, Sweet Thang, Rambling Prose