July 22, 1999
Robitussin & Urine
 
CLICK HERE to see what David and I do for *fun* on the weekend. [And no, there are no handcuffs involved ... ] Then CLICK HERE and HERE to see what the critics are saying about *FootNotes.* [Thank you, Patrick and Nanette.] And then pour me another glass of Robitussin, wouldya? Thankyouverymuch.


Disclaimer Time: I always feel a little funny writing about my assorted illnesses and physical complaints, here on the website. I'm afraid I'm going to come off sounding like the world's biggest hypochondriac, for one thing, like your Great-Great-Aunt Edna, who never fails to mention her spastic colon at the Thanksgiving dinner table. (That's what family *Christmas newsletters* are for.)

For another thing, there are so many things more deserving of bandwidth than my stupid little upper respiratory infection (she says modestly, self-effacingly and 43.5% sincerely).

For another-another thing ... there are only so many ways to describe mucus and mucus-related *activities* before you lose your audience. Or your lunch. (I hereby swear to avoid all future useage of the phrases 'hacking up a lung,' 'phlegm soup' and 'drowning in lungsful of snot.' Slap me if I forget and use them at any point. Slap me hard.]

But today it's official. I am now sicker than shit. And I don't care how whiney and self-indulgent I sound.

Wahhhhh.

I am EXTREMELY RELUCTANTLY staying home sick today. I say "EXTREMELY RELUCTANTLY," not only because I've run out of paid sick leave, but also because Franz is out of town and I hate to waste a perfectly good Franz-free day.  But it has now been two full days since my non-appointment with the doctor at Kaiser -- "in, stethoscope, prescriptions, out," as I described the appointment to an online pal: it was eerily reminiscent of a sexual encounter I had, once -- and I'm not getting any better. In fact, I feel a bazillion times worse today. The cough is worse, the headache is unbelievable ...  I feel like I'm wearing a football helmet lined with teeny-tiny jackhammers ...  I ache all over, I have zero energy. I smell like urine and Robitussin. I am exhausted. I'm cranky as hell.

And -- even more dangerously, for anyone who knows me -- I am bored out of my mind.

I hate this staying-at-home stuff when I'm really sick. Staying-at-home when you're simply playing hooky is another story entirely. But staying home sick feels like a waste of a perfectly good day off.  I feel too lousy to do anything fun, like walking up the street for an ice cream cone, or taking a bus to the library. And I feel too lousy to do anything useful, like tackling the sinkful of dirty dinner dishes or scanning some more of the Healdsburg photos. Thanks to the assorted (mostly-ineffectual) meds I'm taking, I have the attention span of a gnat today, so getting any serious writing or computer-related stuff is out. My head hurts too much to read. 

And watching TV today -- with all the JFK Jr. funeral stuff -- is just too heartbreaking.

So ... that just leaves sleeping. Which is prolly what I SHOULD be doing, anyway. That, and scheduling an honest-to-God doctor's appointment, with an honest-to-God DOCTOR this time. A doctor without a revolving door, for instance. Or one who actually allows me to finish getting dressed before they're showing the next patient into the exam room ...



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