All this optimism is killing me. I've come down with a cold and I'm pretty sure it's terminal. The light hurts my eyes and the fresh clean smells are overpowering my senses. It's not fair. I've seen friends and co-workers felled by the flu during the gray winter months. The office sounded like a hospital ward during an influenza epidemic. Friends canceled plans because they were unable to move and even sweating was a chore.
Through it all, Leslie and I were bug free. Not a germ between us. We frolicked in the rains and took every opportunity to warm ourselves in front of a blazing fire. We generally made pests of ourselves with our vim and vigor.
On three different occasions, we have made plans to go up to the snow. I've never seen snow in real life. I've seen brown mushy snow on the side of I-5 but that's about it. Over the years I've become convinced that snow will kill me, a snow-phobia if you will, so we decided to meet this fear head on.
Actually, WE didn't decide to meet the fear. I was content with living with my snow-phobia. Leslie thought that was a pitiful and cowardly solution. Hence our decision to go to the snow.
Every time we had plans a huge storm would hit. I figure, either I am a Snow God and the snow is welcoming me or God is telling me to stay the hell away. Either way, it's February and I still have yet to see snow. I might have gone this weekend but I'M SICK!!!
I guess Leslie and I were getting a bit smug about being so healthy and THEY found out. You know THEM, The Committee In Charge Of People Who Think They Are In The Clear. Leslie and I were selected to get the worst cold of our lives on the most beautiful weekend in months. That's justice!
Very rarely are we sick at the same time. Usually one of us comes down with it and just as she is recovering, wham, lesbian number two is down for the count. Sure, the sickness lasts longer that way but at least we both get the chance of being needed and needy. It is a true test of love for both to be ill. She gets very quiet and needy and I get really loud and whiny. As usual, we are a lethal combination.
I'll notice her looking even more pained than usual and ask, "Do you need something?" It's not that I actually want to get it for her. It's that I feel guilty for resenting her for feeling as bad or even worse than I do.
"No. I'm fine." She croaks from under her set of covers. She really doesn't want to be a bother.
"What the hell do you want?" I'm struggling to my feet, joints cracking and little groans escaping. "Just tell me and I'll get it." I'm finally standing and starting to yell.
"Some water, please." She whispers through cracked lips.
"Great, just tell me what you want and I'll get it. Don't make me guess. Jesus!" It doesn't matter that she just told me. I'm fevered and very grouchy.
The house has become disgusting and may be contributing to the problem . I'm glad health inspectors don't just drop in. I'm pretty sure the empty cans of soup are breeding and spawning spoons all over the place. It is simply not possible to use that many spoons in two days.
Our bedroom is clean at least. Some Kleenex on the floor next to both sides of the bed but that's about it. The only problem is the bed itself. We've been sick and sweaty for a couple of days. Neither one of us wants to admit it but we can't stand the smell of each other any more. We can't change the sheets because effort would kill us. I haven't showered lately because I think the water will hurt. If the virus doesn't do us in, the mess will simply overwhelm us. Either way, we are screwed.
This weekend has definitely been a wake up call for me. I have to look at each day as if it may be my last. After all, I could die by drowning on my own phlegm. Also, I've discovered the most important things in life are the simple pleasures like waking up after a five hour nap, going to the bathroom and peeing for three minutes straight. The best part is that I made it to the toilet and didn't pee on the dog like I did in the dream. But that's another story.
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