Friday, December 3, 2010

Sickness and the Past Week

Sorry I haven't been able to update as frequently this past week.  I was sick and my energy level basically meant I had to choose between working on Cube Wars and posting blog entries, rather than doing both.  Obviously I chose the former.  I should be back up to speed this week, but let's talk about how shitty it is to be sick.

I went to bed Monday November 22nd with a bit of a nagging sore throat.  Usually this is my body's way of informing me that it might be a good idea to get more than six hours of sleep one of the coming nights.  I went to bed not really thinking much of it and figured I'd be alright in the morning.

I was wrong.  I awoke Tuesday feeling like a rather sizable black man had spent the previous several nights cock spelunking in my throat.  It only got worse from there, giving me a bit of a dilemma.  I felt like crap, but I can only play floor hockey every other Tuesday, so missing a week wasn't looking that palatable to me.  I finally made the decision to go out to dinner with the guys hoping that some activity and some food (Buffalo Wild Wings) would help kick my cold's ass.

I must say I have a newfound respect for athletes that play with the flu.  I could do okay, but I couldn't play the end-to-end two way game that I normally play...and I was only playing floor hockey against a team whose average age was somewhere in the high forties.  I was forced to adapt to a new playing strategy, which was basically "run around until you feel like vomiting, and then line change so you don't."  It worked pretty well, (considering we only had one extra player) but our team still got shellacked.

I got some food in my body at Wild Wings and then returned home, where the phage steadily grew worse.  My throat pain had decided to grow from "recently deepthroated Peter North" to "is actively trying to suck off Bowser's spiked monster cock."  Swallowing became immensely painful.  Also, for whatever reason, I am cold 90% of the time when I feel normally.  When I get sick, this issue is magnified tenfold.  I was reduced to huddling under a blanket as my space heater steam broiled my legs while I played Scrabble with my sister.  When it came time to go to bed, I grabbed a heating pad and crawled beneath my blanket, sleeping bag, and king size comforter.  Tactical error.

That's when my body decided to give me the finger.  I felt like ice.  What does ice do when it comes into contact with heat?  It melts, which is what I felt like it was doing.  My body was hell bent on turning my mattress into a sweat soaked salt-waterbed.  I was dripping into the blankets, but everything I took them off, I started to shiver.  I tried rearranging things, but by that time the sheets were gripping my drenched legs like Kobe palming a basketball.  My strategy basically became to try and ignore the fact that my sheets were probably going to smell like ass the next morning and I actually got a few hours of sleep.

Luckily, after only a day or two, my throat got tired of being a huge asshole and started to feel better.  Unfortunately, that was when the rest of my face conspired to suffocate me.  My sinuses were more blocked up than the rectum of that paste eating fourth grader we all remember.  After some discussion, we reached a compromise and they decided they wanted to run and bleed nonstop.  (At least the first half of that is pretty much par for the course.)

So there I am, blowing my nose every twelve seconds, waiting for the point when its become obvious that my brain has liquefied itself and is trying to escape, or when the blood loss became enough to wrench me from consciousness.  Luckily neither occurred, but I got to deal with several days of having a face-period.  During this, I moved into the next phase of the cold.  Trying to hack up internal organs.

The worst moment came when I was visiting some friends in Buffalo.  I was still under the weather, but I had done a pretty good job of not coughing or snotting all over everyone.  Then I put the first hot wing in my mouth, and something about the pepper aroma disagreed violently with my body.  I started coughing nonstop, which is pretty much the worst thing to do at dinner.  First of all, no one wants your saliva on their food, which wasn't a problem because I backed the hell away from the table immediately.  Secondly, if you start coughing a lot, regardless of how minor it is, you look like you're about thirty seconds from a one way trip to see Jesus.  The third unfortunate thing is that this led to the automatic assumption that the wings were too hot for me.  They were not.  They could be literally turning my face into a pile of chemical mush and I still wouldn't say they were too hot.  (I think I've been there before actually...)

So I took a page from Rush Limbaugh's book, and had a discussion with my body regarding the consumption of wings.  "One way or another, this is going to happen, so you might as well shut the fuck up and enjoy it."  After some water, things calmed the fuck down and I was able to enjoy my meal.

This led to the final stage of my disease.  I usually get over a cold in 5-7 days.  Well, okay, I usually ignore the fact that I have a cold because, come on, it sucks enough being sick, I'm not going to make myself feel shittier by acting miserable and not letting myself do all the fun stuff I would normally do.  But anyways, 5-7 days is about the time I'm not having fun in spite of my body.  The problem is that for day five through about day fourteen, I'll be stuck at about 80%.  I haven't really felt sick since this past Monday, but I've still been coughing/nose running/face bleeding until today.  Evidently my body gets to a certain point and is just like "fuck it, I'll do the rest later."

But the point of the story is I'm better now, and I can start writing blog entries again and ranting about random shit.  Hooray for random shit!

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