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Because sometimes a status update just isn't enough.

Because sometimes a status update just isn't enough.

16 April 2013

The Day I Could Have Done Without



Not that I'm not grateful for waking up for the 23,250th day in a row (give or take a week) but seriously... this was one of those mornings I could have happily slept through.  Or died through, whichever.  

(Okay, maybe not died, per se.  But a deep, restful coma would have been nice.)


First of all, I've been sick forever.  


Throughout September and October, while driving repeatedly past a drug store that offered free flu shots every day, I scoffed and snorted and made disparaging remarks about how "There's no point in getting the flu shot because I get it every year and still get the damn flu."  I also may or may not have said things like, "I think the damn shot GIVES me the flu!  Watch... I won't get the shot this year and now I probably won't get the flu!"

(Oh, hardy har har, Self.  You are just sooooo funny.)  

All of which means I've had the flu three times this year.  Three. Times.

The first bout occurred after my initial scoffing, circa October.  And I was sick through Thanksgiving.

Then I came down with the second bout in January and was sick for yet another three weeks.

Finally, and most recently, I began throwing up a week and a half ago and woke up the following morning with a fever, sinus infection, bronchitis, aching, pounding head and a priest standing at my bedside issuing Last Rights.

Because I was that fucking sick.


And a week and a half later, I'm STILL that fucking sick.  This sinus infection is sticking to me like that fat friend your mother made you be nice to and invite to your birthday party and never left.


Because I was (am) desperate to breathe again, I finally resorted to purchasing that Neti Pot thing.  


Basically, you put warm water and salt into a little tea pot and squirt it up your nose.  All the water shoots the snot that is hanging out in your sinus cavity right out the opposite nostril that you shot the water into.

Then you repeat the process on the other side.







All the people in the advertisements look so damn happy while they hose out their sinus cavities.  How could this not be something I would want to do?


See?  Clean cut handsome guy is giving me a thumbs up!  Yay!  Sinus flushing is FUN!!



All the cool people are doing it!




You know you want to...



Yes!  YES!!  I MUST DO THIS!!


So I raced to the drug store, purchased my Neti Pot, and came home.


I ran into the bathroom, locked the door, read the instructions, filled my little pot with water and then...


THIS happened.


Me:  *hanging my head over the sink and doing Lamaze breathing to prepare myself for my first attempt at giving myself a nasal enema*


Me:  *inhale*  *exhale*  *puffpuffpuff*  *pantpantpant*


Me:  *deep breath*


Me:  *tilting adorable little blue pot and effectively sending a tsunami up my nose*


Me:  *gag*  *retch*  *choke* *gasp*


Repeat.


Fuck you, Talking Neti Pot.



I have to admit that even though it is hands down the most disgusting thing I've ever done (up to and including eating a worm while doing a tequila shot) it IS more effective than blowing my nose 800 times a day, even though I've yet to manage it without gagging.

(Then again, so is sticking my head in a swimming pool and inhaling a snoot full of pool water, but I'll save that little adventure for the Spring Thaw.)

But I digress.

Anyway, like I said, I've been sick.  And getting up in the morning and making myself look presentable is nothing short of an epic failure.

Consequently, I've been somewhat off my game.

Last night I dosed myself with NyQuil and dragged my sad and sorry ass to bed.  

Waking up this morning took slightly longer than usual.

I climbed into the shower, did my thang, got out, got dressed, did the hair and make-up, did the Neti Pot (which, as it turns out, I should have done prior to getting into the shower) and left for work.

My commute to work takes me around 45 minutes, so this morning, because I could not wake up, I got myself a coffee to keep me busy on the road (and to also guarantee that I would need to pee at least three times before the morning was over).  I drove, I sipped, I listened to music.

And then?

I needed to blow my nose.

Which is when I discovered that over the past two weeks I have used every tissue and spare paper napkin that I keep in my car to blow my nose.  And all I had at my disposal were a handful of wadded up used napkins that I (disgustingly) had shoved into my center consul.

(I am so ashamed at how gross I am.  Mea culpa.)

After rummaging frantically (while driving) for 5 minutes I finally picked up one of the hardened and dried previously used napkins and blew into it.

To put it bluntly, the entire contents of one nostril shot onto my cheek and into my eye.

NOOOOOoooOOOOOooooOOOOoooooOOOOoooooOOOooooo!!!!!!


NOOOooooOOOOOoooooOOOOOoooOOOOooooooOOOOOOooo!!!!!


GAHHHHHHH!!!


I won't go into detail, but I may or may not at this point have pulled over, removed my scarf, and used it to wipe off my face and eye.  

(And finish blowing my nose.  Yes, I know.  Don't even say it.  But desperate times call for desperate measures, and it was either my blouse or my scarf.  Scarf won.  Or lost.  Whichever.  I can do my job sans scarf.  If I were to appear sans shirt, I'd become one of my own clients.)


I arrived at work with seconds to spare, got the keys to my work vehicle, climbed in it, turned the key...

And it wouldn't start.


"Motherfucker!!" I muttered, as I ran back inside, talked to no less than 5 people, grabbed the keys to a different car, ran back out, and went on my merry way.


(Late, of course, because that's how I roll.)





And of course I got stuck five cars deep behind a line of Speed Limit Nazis.

I hate these people.  If the speed limit is 45, they go 40 to 44.  If it is 30, they drive 25 to 29 miles per hour.  If the speed limit is 55, they go between 47 and 52.  (I don't get it, either.  But it's what they do.  I'm beginning to think there's a club and a rule book.)

These people are going to be the death of me.  Count on it.


I finally came to a place where I could do a mass passing and did so with unholy glee.  "Weeeeeeeeeeee!" I squealed, as I careened down the wrong side of the road going 75 in a 55, passing all five cars in just the nick of time.

As I blew into my lane in front of the final Speed Limit Nazi, the GPS that I had stuck onto the windshield dislodged itself and flew into my face, smacking me in the eye.

Yeah.  That hurt.

My eye promptly began to water and long story short, I wound up with mascara down to my chin and eyeliner up to my eyebrow.

I looked hot.  And was on my way to deal face to face with clients.  And running so late I simply couldn't stop.

Since my jacket was black and matched my mascara and eyeliner, I used it to wipe up my face as best I could.


So. Fucking. Awesome.


Beyond that point my day continued fairly smoothly.  When I made it back to the home office I couldn't wait to get to the bathroom and pee, which is the one thing I hadn't been able to do all day.  (I really appreciated that coffee.  You have no idea how much I love having to pee for four hours and not being able to do so.)

Which I did, post haste.

And after completing my business I approached the sink to wash my hands... which is when I finally caught sight of myself for the first time since leaving the house.


Oh. My. GOD.


There I stood, in all my glory.  I, a bastion of professionalism, had performed my missions of good will and spread sunshine amongst the weak and the weary with mascara and eyeliner smeared all over one eye, dried snot crusted to one nostril and cheek, a white blob of toothpaste on my royal blue blouse and my crowning glory:

A booger (thank you, Neti Pot) stuck in my hair.