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Uncle Donald... Is That You?

So. Looks like I've got strep throat.

Don't worry; it's probably not contagious any more. I wouldn't lick my monitor while you're reading the site for a couple of days, but apart from that, you're probably fine. And you can go back to tongue-loving the blog soon. Honest.

Meanwhile, after two days of staying home from work -- and being largely unable to speak -- the illness seems to be lifting a bit. And I'm ready, dammit -- it's not been a picnic around here this week. When I call in sick and stay home, I don't actually want to be sick. Or home. I want to be tiptoeing across the greens on a golf course, or drinking myself loopy at a ball game. Or out licking stripper poles at some seedy nudie bar -- which will get me started on my next illness, no doubt. That's a bonus.

I never really knew what strep throat felt like, either. It's a common enough condition -- you hear about people strepping out all the time. And I've had it once before, back in college. But at the time, the doc told me I had strep and mono, at the same time, so it wasn't quite the same. They gave me this wonderful, delicious medicine that tasted like stardust and happiness and had codeine and alcohol in it. I can't tell you much about the three days I spent taking the stuff, but it was virtually pain-free. And consciousness-free. I'm pretty sure I talked to God. And Buddha. And Dumbo was there, with Mickey and Donald and Goofy and three of Snow White's dwarves. It was magical.

This time, I slugged through it more or less medicine-free. A couple of aspirin here, some acetaminophen there, but that's about it. These nice people were kind enough to offer their advice on home remedies, which I took to heart. Or tried to, anyway. I gargled with salt water, but it didn't help much. I opted not to try anything alcohol-related, what with the burning already going on down my gullet. What I really wanted -- what seemed like a fantastic idea -- was hot tea, with lemon and honey.

But we don't have any honey. Or lemon. It's damned lucky we had tea bags, frankly. I like tea and all, but it's not an everyday treat around the household. Not like pizza, or Guinness, or upside-down margaritas. So, I microwaved some water -- the full extent of my culinary skills -- and I had myself some hot tea. Plain. Hot. Tea. When life hands me lemons, then I'll have some fucking lemon tea. Life handed me three-year-old Lipton tea bags instead, so here we are. Life's persnickety that way sometimes.

Of course, just the heat, and the... well, whatever the hell is in tea -- twigs? Dirt? Cremated ashes? Who knows. Whatever's in it, it felt pretty good going down the hatch. And it made my throat feel better, at least for a few minutes. So, for the past two days, I've been guzzling the stuff like its stripper sweat and showgirl squeezings. I've had enough tea this week to float a moose.

(How high? I don't know. Float it where? Don't know. It's just an expression; don't overthink it there, bub.)

So, here I am. One more sippy cup of the leafy stuff tonight, a full ten hours' sleep, and I might just be ready to face the world again tomorrow. Maybe even talk to the world, too. I got through this nonsense, and dammit, I did it the natural way.

And you know what? Fuck that. Next time, I'm getting some of that codeine crap and spending the week in Wonderland again. Tea's fine and all, but if I'm going to really be sick, I don't wanna fricking be awake for it. Shit.

Permalink | Comments (2)


Oh, feel better soon, Charlie.

You can't tell me when I can and cannot tongue-love the blog! You're not the boss of me! Also, I MUST find a way to use "showgirl squeezings" in a sentence.

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