by Melody Bowen
Page 3
I hate the flu. I hate this stupid little parasitic virus that has somehow made his way into my body and has set up residence there -- throwing a little flu-bug party with all his little virus friends. This flu bug has vastly overstayed his welcome. This flu bug has to go. Now. How can one tiny little virus make me feel this icky for so long? In case you've lost count, this is day five. Flu bug, go away!
I spent Saturday in bed. Normally, spending a rainy Saturday in bed would be one of the most wonderful things I could imagine. I'd lie in bed, read a great book, listen to the rain outside my window, sip some tea, or maybe curl up beside my boyfriend, sleep really late, snuggle, la-la-la, etc. Unfortunately, that's not the way I spent my Saturday in bed. I woke without enough energy to even get out of bed for longer than three minutes. I spent the entire day under the covers alternating between freezing and roasting -- again! -- because my temperature spiked to almost 102. Every muscle in my body aches from coughing. My diet consisted only of lukewarm tea, Benadryl, nasal spray, Tylenol, and Nyquil. This *sucks*!
Having the flu is one of the best ways to remind myself how much I (sometimes) hate living alone. Today, I hate, hate, hate living alone. I hate it! My house is a disaster; in fact, I'd call it "the place old Kleenex go to die." Every surface in my home is covered with Kleenex, including my bed. In fact, my bed is completely covered with I-feel-like-crap paraphernalia -- bunched up tissues, a box of Kleenex, thermometer, two remote controls, two kinds of nasal spray -- you get the picture. I swallowed the last of the Nyquil just before midnight, and I don't feel like putting myself together enough to even leave the house to buy more.
Today, I'm envious of all the people I know who share their homes with someone they love. I'm envious of my friends whose boyfriends don't live 500 miles away. I'm envious of every person I know who wakes up with the flu and simply rolls over to the person next to them and says, "Honey, would you please bring me some Nyquil?" And they bring it! (Ned would bring me Nyquil, but he's still in Minnesota, and he won't be here until Thursday morning, dammit.)
If only I could teach the pugs to go out and fetch Nyquil... (Scratch that thought. I can barely teach them to sit.)
Today, my fever is a bit lower. It's staying in two-digit numbers, at least. I'm still coughing and my head is stuffy and the dark circles under my eyes still look like I've been in a bar fight, but I do feel a little better. I felt well enough to get up and cook myself some bacon (translation: burn myself some bacon) and talk on the phone with G for a little while. Now, I feel like going back to the bed and staying under the covers for a while again. With any luck, and some more rest, I'll stop feeling sorry for myself and I'll go out and buy more Nyquil. Or some cyanide. (Just kidding.)
Note to self: Stop feeling sorry for self! It's just the stupid f-ing flu, not bubonic plague. In a few days, flu bug will be dead (yes!), boyfriend will be in town, tissues will no longer cover every surface of home, and everything will be peachy again. So shut up about it already, and go back to bed.
My friend Doug is my new hero. After going back to bed and contemplating further the cyanide-versus-Nyquil option, I got a how-are-ya-feelin' phone call from Doug. After hearing me weakly cough and sniff a response, he was kind enough to brave the marauding crowds of bargain shoppers at Wal-Mart to buy me medicine. He arrived at my house tonight via his shiny white steed (his gigantic Ford SUV), blazed through the door in shiny Doc Martens (that he recently told me he found for quite a bargain), and produced an armload of feel-better stuff: Theraflu, Nyquil, Tylenol, cough drops, etc. He even brought along an incredibly tasty fresh fruit salad and a single-serving pecan pie to cheer me up.
Note to self: Buy Doug *fantastic* dinner for saving me from need to venture out in public to buy medicine looking like near-dead sea hag. Buy Doug *incredibly* decadent dessert for going the extra mile to cheer me up by bringing fruit salad & pie along with medicine. (Thanks, Doug. You're the best.)