03/11/2003 Entry: "Salt Water, Part Two."

Well, after all that sobbing, my left eye has revolted.

I swear I watched this morning as it ballooned up to a freakishly, frog-like size. OK, maybe that's just my flair for the dramatic. But it is swollen underneath, and feels funny when it opens and closes. It was the topper to make me call in sick to work, executive presentation or not. Last night I awoke with my throat ablaze, only satisfied by a thorough gargle with sharp, lemony salt water to grate against my tender throat tissues. (I take after my mother here too; why water down a hydrogen peroxide gargle when the full strength stuff will work twice as fast? OK, there's the searing pain, true, but that's just how you can tell it's working.)

I did have the foresight to take notes last night after I woke up feverish and had etched my throat with lemon and salt. I'll put a transcript in the "See More" section for posterity. My finest moment. Someday when I lose my mind completely, be sure to bring a tape recorder when you come visit.

So with my eyes swelling shut, my voice changing to a croak, and finding extreme comfort filling my throat with salt water, I wonder...did I just speak to soon about becoming a Deep One?

OK, so my (literally) feverish notes:

God, It's a million degrees in here. Roll over. My back itches. It itches where the wings used to be. Can I feel where they used to be? What did they look like? [Insert several minutes of flexing, contemplation of the required musculature, contemplations of what color feathers would best suit my complexion, etc.]

Ga! There's a screaming noise in my ears. Ears ringing. Ear noise. I'll cover the noise with more noise. More ear noise. [A minute or two of playing with own ear, making noises.] Not working. Ba-la-la. Hey, that worked, I think. Try some more. Ba-la-la, Ba-la-la...Ba-la-lai, la-la-la...Ba-la-lai, la-la-la...Ba-la..Ba-Len-cia. Valencia. Valencia Street Hotel.

Clickety-click, Bzzt Wrrr.
Clickety-click, Bzzt Wrrr.
Clickety-click, Bzzt Wrrr.

[...which I recall was me interpreting noises in my ears as an IDM/Drum&Bass track. Look, I don't know either. The Advil hadn't kicked in yet, OK?]

Write this down. I don't think I can (properly) write this down. This is the fever high, the mind moving without meaning, without regard for its next steps. But Dogpoet could still write it better than I can, I bet. Oh, shut up.

The room is starting to cool off after the Advil I took, I can put a sheet over me, finally. Maybe the whole blanket. Mmm, still a bit much.

I am so not going to work tomorrow.

As you can see, I had recovered a little sanity there by the end.

Replies: 2 comments

Feel better darling... sounds like you are doing all the right stuff.. Except resting.. Gotta rest too.

HUGS
Vince

Posted by Vince @ 03/12/2003 08:29 AM PST

Uh oh . . . who's been playing with the guinea pig now!!

I somehow avoided the sore-throat part, but the feverish midnight ramblings have been similar . . . I wake up around 3:30am each morning and think, "Damn the spirits!! They know this is the hour when I am most vulnerable!!"

And my body does NOT want to lie still.

Posted by William Ted @ 03/12/2003 09:02 PM PST