I finished out the haunt season with an antibiotic-resistant sinus infection and pneumonia.
Because—and I really do need to get this on a t-shirt—I can complicate the shit out of anything.
I have a bone to pick with whomever recommended The Great British Baking Show as soothing, low-stakes programming. So basically, the entire internet.
It probably didn’t help that I started my binge during a particularly vicious migraine, being—for once—in no mood for the brooding glances of Colin Sodding Firth, or my beloved Audrey Hepburn’s struggle to find herself and maybe a name for the cat. Turns out when I’ve got a migraine I need gentle, low-stakes, and familiar.
Otherwise I end up on the couch—in full noodle mode from a combination of Percocet and migraine meds—talking to the bakers. Like they can hear me.
Good news: I found a place to live!
Did this stop the brain crabs?
Husband has been getting stuffed up at night. Sinuses, you know, can tell time.
I’m sure this results in a great deal of discomfort for him but we’re here to talk about the effect on me and why I can’t get a decent night’s sleep, so let’s dive right into that, shall we?
What is it about this time of year? I swear, every year at just this time I manage to catch some sort of plague.
This year’s model snuck up on me while I was getting ready for bed…
I’m not too proud to admit that when I’m sick I become unbearable. I’m demanding, needy, whiny, and uncooperative. I want all the medicine, but I’ll refuse to take it if it involves swallowing things that taste yucky, or eating/drinking when I don’t want to. I am probably the worst patient. Ever.
I had every intention of being all better by now, but instead I keep waking up with fresh symptoms… and friends who work in health care are nodding and saying helpful things like, “Has the vomiting started yet?” so I’d like to make one last plea to all parents: please keep your children home at all times, preferably in plastic bubbles, so that they don’t go around wiping their noses on the rest of the world. Until that day, I’ll just keep telling myself that whiskey fudge will totally work better than anything my stupid doctor gives me.
Side note; I think I’ve finally sorted my whiskey fudge recipe.