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Monday, September 13, 2010

Is it moving? Poke it with a stick!

I woke up on Tuesday morning, throat feeling really scratchy. ”Wow,” I thought. ”I must have been snoring my head off for most of the night.” I felt sorry for Mr Chooch who has to sleep next to my impersonation of a sawmill and who still has to act as if I’m adorable in the morning. Not that I’m NOT adorable in the morning, but still… However, as the day passed, the scratchiness didn’t go away. Instead it crawled up my throat and into my nose, from where it proceeded to fill my head with cotton.

I was sickly.

Coming down with a bug is like going through the five stages of grief. Have you ever noticed that?

First there’s denial. I spent day 1 telling myself that I was NOT sick. I felt wonderful. I was the picture of health. A shining example of wellbeing. The very definition of vigor. I just had some dust in my throat or something. Probably a little speck had gotten stuck in there when I dusted the window sill the day before. I always knew dusting wasn’t good for you and I swore to never do it again.

Later that night there was anger. That's the second stage, you know. Anger. I started feeling worse. There was no denying that the little speck of dust wasn’t dust at all, but some sort of angry, evil devil-germ that had attacked me for no good reason. It wasn’t bloody fair. I didn’t deserve to be sick. I don’t go around kicking puppies or saying (horribly) bad things about people (who don’t deserve it). If I could just get my hands on whoever had stuck me with their bug… And so on and so forth.

Then there was stage three; bargaining. If only this stupid germ would go away quickly, I would exercise loads and eat healthy foods. Like oranges propped full of vitamin C. I’d even take vitamins! And I would procrastinate less. I’d use my normal, healthy energy to get stuff done rather than playing computer games or reading magazines or staring into space. I would never again throw my clothes in a pile on the floor, I’d stop spending money on things that are silly, I’d wear sensible shoes. I’d take Pooch for longer walks every single day, even when it’s raining and said Pooch doesn’t want to go outside because she hates getting wet…

The next stage is depression. Let’s just say that Mr Chooch is lucky that he spent that particular day at work, even if the copy machine did break just as he was short on lecture material. Poor Pooch wasn’t so lucky. Being stuck in a house with a whiny, blubbering snot-machine is…yes. It really is. Let’s just leave it at that.

Now I’ve accepted the fact that I’m sickly. I’ve built myself a disease-cave. As soon as Mr Chooch gets out of bed, I empty out my handbag on his side of the bed. Ipod, kindle, cellphone, tissues, nasal spray, cough medicine etc spilling everywhere. Then he fixes me breakfast (soft squishy food) and a big thermocup of tea before he goes to work. Then I just spend my day under the covers with Pooch, all my crap and my laptop computer.

Maybe I’ll try this health tip, though:



7 comments:

haphazardlife said...

BUT.

If you have hot whiskey, and it cures you, no more days in bed with your kindle and your laptop trolling YouTube.

secret agent woman said...

I like to camp out in front of the tv when I'm sick, although I mostly sleep.

Always Home and Uncool said...

Hot whiskey rarely hurts. Unless it burns going down. I do the whole zinc lozenge thing. Seems to help some.

Ian Lidster said...

I am sorry about your illness, and your 'stages of grief' analogy is brilliant, and true. On the other hand, it's not 'Man Flu', I'm sure you've seen the Youtube of that horrible affliction.

Big Brother said...

I caught a cold.... hmmm must have come from you... are you contagious?
;0)

choochoo said...

Jazz - I still could, only then it'd be laziness and not sickness.

Agent - there's nothing good on tv anyways. Might as well sleep.

Uncool - stuck to those myself this time. Maybe next time. Besides, the mr might not be to happy if I boiled up a pot of his 12 year old whiskey, which is the only one we have in the house.

Ian - I know. Fingers crossed that Mr Chooch doesn't catch the bug...

Big brother - I spreads it over the internets. Nyahahaha.

tattytiara said...

Long manicured toenails? I need to look down more often - I totally missed that trend and it sounds divinely hilarious!