Sick! Send soup! –An alliterative illness.

Woke up this morning with one of those scalding feelings in the lungs, the ones where you know the next four days are going to be spent relieving your body of things grey and green and boogery.  Being attacked by a virus has always haunted me.  I once saw flies feasting on roadkill, the way they buzzed about invading parts that we all know shouldn’t be invaded, and then carried fleshy pieces off to their lair – or wherever the hell flies live – presumably to feed their young.  I imagine that is what is happening inside of me right now.

They say sleep is supposed to help – that and liquids – as though I could drown the little bastards as they prey upon my cells.  Personally, I don’t buy any of these modern medicinal remedies.  I’m forty-one now, and in my lifetime, the length of a flu or cold, has not changed for even a minute. When I get sick, it is for four days, whether I sleep or run or attempt to power through a hot yoga class or stick my face above a pot of hot steam or ingest four pounds of ginger and garlic or down twelve zinc lozenges (does anyone else hate the word lozenge?) or put two shots of tequila on the soles of my feet, or any other medieval remedy currently making its way around Southern California’s “obscure medicinal cures for the morbid and depressed.”  How is it possible – man on the moon, nano-tech, the whole genetic sequencing thing – that we can’t reduce the length of a common cold?

The sad part is, the friggin’ thing probably came from some kid’s snot on a water fountain, and the little twerp is currently running around complaining about cooties or crapping himself in a way that only your average ninety-seven year old could understand while infecting half the damn city.  How do these things start?  Are these viruses just chilling out somewhere waiting for one of us to pick them up and distribute to the population, or do they spend some time in human hosts evolving and adapting and figuring out ways to survive?  Because that is my fear, that right now, inside of me, an entire evolution is going on, with tiny strains of mutant DNA mutating and adapting and preparing to infect other people.

The point here is I’m staying inside for a few days, to place all of these adaptations on the furniture and counters of my house.  I’m protecting greater society from intense infection.  If you should feel the need to reward such courage and heroism, please send it in the form of chicken soup, not because it will cure me, but because I’m not in the mood to cook tonite.  Thank you for your support.

By ccxander

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