Diary of a Sick, White Man
This past week, I was sick. Not in the head, as most of you think, but physically sick. I kept a little journal of the night my fever broke and thought I'd share it with you all. This is, by all accounts, how my night went on the evening of July 14, 2005:
Sick Journal -- Fever breaking
9 p.m.: I go to bed. My body is aching from the constant coughing and hacking; my body trying to expunge the evilness in my lungs. I lay my head on the cool comfort of the pillow, hoping sleep will follow.
9:30 p.m.: What do you know? I'm starting to feel the cold of a fever breaking. I have no idea how high my fever is, so it should be interesting to see how the night progresses after this.
9:32 p.m.: How did that pink sloth get in my room? Better still, how is it possible it's crawling on my ceiling?
9:36 p.m.: Coughing fit, my head is now hurting.
9:37 p.m.: Roll over on my right side, away from the evil fan that's making threats at me.
9:50 p.m.: Coughing fit, my chest is now hurting.
10:03 p.m.: Get up and take two NyQuil pills. Finally, I should have thought of this before. Hell, if anything'll put me out, it'll be trusty NyQuil. It's never let me down before. I should be out now in less than half an hour. Forty-five minutes, tops.
10:10 p.m.: Get into an argument with my sheets. I'm trying to convince them that it's their job to keep me covered, but they insist it's not that easy. They'd rather bunch themselves up at the end of the bed and call it a night. Stupid sheets. I hate them.
10:12 p.m.: Coughing fit, my knee now hurts (I smacked it on the footboard during the coughing harangue).
10:24 p.m.: Shouldn't the NyQuil be doing something by now? Soon, soon.
10: 37 p.m.: Noticed if I look at my ceiling, the entire plot of the final Harry Potter book is etched there in the bumps. It's pretty amazing since I've never read the Harry Potter books, but boy, won't J.K. Rowling be mad when I call her tomorrow to tell her I figured it all out! Ha!
10: 40 p.m.: Roll onto my left side, thinking it's weird that your arm will go completely numb if you lay on it for the right amount of time. Blood's a funny thing, if you think about it.
10:45 p.m.: Slowly starting to realize that the trusty NyQuil has let me down. I'm no closer to being asleep now than I was when I was chatting with the clown beside my bed. But he was boring, so maybe I should go back and listen to him.
10:52 p.m.: Coughing fit, my back is now hurting, making it impossible to lay on my back.
11:00 p.m.: It's been two hours now, the clock whispers in my ear. I told it I knew, hoping that it would appreciate how annoyed I was by it telling me.
11:14 p.m.: Was THIS close to falling asleep ...
11:15 p.m.: Coughing fit, my left pinky finger hurts for some strange reason.
11:39 p.m.: Roll on my right side, thinking this must be how sushi felt.
11:47 p.m.: My computer, my friend, tries to hum me to sleep. I thank it, saying it's a nice thought, but it's not helping. It proceeds to shut down and, I believe it's mad at me, because I think it went out back and started smoking because I know I smelled smoke and that's not something my computer does is smoke because it's a terrible habit especially for computers and it should know that but I'll talk with it tomorrow to let it know that I'm still it's friend and think it should stop the habit because smoking bytes ... haha I made a joke there and I'll think I'll tell it that tomorrow when I mention that smoking is bad.
12:03 a.m.: Coughing fit, my right elbow hurts (smacked it on the headboard during the fit).
12:23 a.m.: Roll onto my left side, thinking I'm doing a great impersonation of that girl in Young Frankenstein with the "Roll, roll, roll in zee hay." She would be proud. I wonder what she's doing now and if she's single. I'm single. Maybe she's single. Maybe I can ask her out and make her a cake. To hell with my lamp. It's telling me it's a bad idea. My lamp should feel lucky I know Morse code, since it's mute and can't talk any other way.
12:53 a.m.: Why am I still awake? Why am I still awake? Why am I still awake? I realize I can make new words out of that expression, like "Am I still awake? Why" ... man, I'm clever. Gotta tell the computer about that one tomorrow.
1:13 a.m.: Roll on my left side, immediately have a coughing fit, roll back on my right side. My stomach now hurts.
1:37 a.m.: I'm asleep ... yea! I dream Bing is cussing my father out on the phone. That seems weird ... wow, I love sleep ...
1:39 a.m.: Coughing fit, my tongue now hurts because I tried to scream "damnit" while coughing and bit my tongue.
1:54 a.m.: Think to myself that I have just injured my strongest muscle. Wonder if I'll have to go through rehab?
2:16 a.m.: Roll on my right side, thinking that NyQuil should have worked a long, long time ago.
2:38 a.m.: There's a fly on my ceiling. I can't see it, but I hear it. How does a fly land on the ceiling? That always bothered me because I don't know. Maybe the pink sloth is still up there and he'll get him. No, he won't. He's too slow.
2:45 a.m.: Really shivering now. Really cold. It finally dawns on me that my sheets have convinced the comforter to revolt and now they're both partying at the foot of the bed. Only my trusty blanket left. Good old blanket. Feel rather like that kid from Charlie Brown. I love my blanket.
3:12 a.m.: Coughing fit, my throat is now hurting. I'm surprised by this because it seems like the most normal thing that's happened so far.
3:45 a.m.: WHY AM I NOT ASLEEP YET????? Agh! I roll over on my stomach, maybe that'll help.
3:50 a.m.: After back-to-back coughing fits, I decide that sleeping on the stomach is not an option. Feel like the Karate Kid ... side to side ... side to side ... must stay side to side ... there's no place like home ... wait, that's not Karate Kid, what is that from? It's going to drive me up a wall until I figure it out ...
4:20 a.m.: Wonder what Bob Marley would be doing right now? Why did he have to die? Why do we die? Instantly try to think of something else because if I keep thinking like this, I'll be awake for the next couple of days and I need to sleep ... maybe if I think of something relaxing ...
4:33 a.m.: I'm in a peaceful meadow ... there's no sickness ... just me with some happy people. It's nice, the sun is shining and things are beautiful ...
4:34 a.m.: Coughing fit, head hurting again, this time, so is my crotch because I think I inadvertently hit it while waving my arms around.
4:50 a.m.: What was the name of that movie? It's going to drive me crazy ...
5:08 a.m.: I have been in this bed for more than 8 hours. I think I'm being punished for something, I just don't know what yet. I wish I could pay for it some other way ...
5:33 a.m.: People are starting to stir upstairs. I can hear them getting up. Shut up, people. I'm trying to lay in my bed down here. Can't say sleep, because we'll obviously have none of that this day.
5:48 a.m.: Do I have enough money? I mean, in my wallet? I might need to buy something and they might not take a credit card, so I'll have to have money. Should I go look? No, I'll ask the sloth to do it.
5:52: a.m.: I've tried in vain to get the sloth to tell me how much money I have. He knows, but he's not telling me. I hate the sloth. I've noticed it's not pink anymore, though. It's more of a burnt orange color.
6:10 a.m.: That's it. I know I'm never going to get to sleep. It's just a waste of time.
6:14 a.m.: Coughing fit, my duodenum is hurting ... and I don't even know were that is ...
6:48 a.m.: THE WIZARD OF OZ!
7:15 a.m.: Slowly, safely, mercifully, I fall asleep.
Sick Journal -- Fever breaking
9 p.m.: I go to bed. My body is aching from the constant coughing and hacking; my body trying to expunge the evilness in my lungs. I lay my head on the cool comfort of the pillow, hoping sleep will follow.
9:30 p.m.: What do you know? I'm starting to feel the cold of a fever breaking. I have no idea how high my fever is, so it should be interesting to see how the night progresses after this.
9:32 p.m.: How did that pink sloth get in my room? Better still, how is it possible it's crawling on my ceiling?
9:36 p.m.: Coughing fit, my head is now hurting.
9:37 p.m.: Roll over on my right side, away from the evil fan that's making threats at me.
9:50 p.m.: Coughing fit, my chest is now hurting.
10:03 p.m.: Get up and take two NyQuil pills. Finally, I should have thought of this before. Hell, if anything'll put me out, it'll be trusty NyQuil. It's never let me down before. I should be out now in less than half an hour. Forty-five minutes, tops.
10:10 p.m.: Get into an argument with my sheets. I'm trying to convince them that it's their job to keep me covered, but they insist it's not that easy. They'd rather bunch themselves up at the end of the bed and call it a night. Stupid sheets. I hate them.
10:12 p.m.: Coughing fit, my knee now hurts (I smacked it on the footboard during the coughing harangue).
10:24 p.m.: Shouldn't the NyQuil be doing something by now? Soon, soon.
10: 37 p.m.: Noticed if I look at my ceiling, the entire plot of the final Harry Potter book is etched there in the bumps. It's pretty amazing since I've never read the Harry Potter books, but boy, won't J.K. Rowling be mad when I call her tomorrow to tell her I figured it all out! Ha!
10: 40 p.m.: Roll onto my left side, thinking it's weird that your arm will go completely numb if you lay on it for the right amount of time. Blood's a funny thing, if you think about it.
10:45 p.m.: Slowly starting to realize that the trusty NyQuil has let me down. I'm no closer to being asleep now than I was when I was chatting with the clown beside my bed. But he was boring, so maybe I should go back and listen to him.
10:52 p.m.: Coughing fit, my back is now hurting, making it impossible to lay on my back.
11:00 p.m.: It's been two hours now, the clock whispers in my ear. I told it I knew, hoping that it would appreciate how annoyed I was by it telling me.
11:14 p.m.: Was THIS close to falling asleep ...
11:15 p.m.: Coughing fit, my left pinky finger hurts for some strange reason.
11:39 p.m.: Roll on my right side, thinking this must be how sushi felt.
11:47 p.m.: My computer, my friend, tries to hum me to sleep. I thank it, saying it's a nice thought, but it's not helping. It proceeds to shut down and, I believe it's mad at me, because I think it went out back and started smoking because I know I smelled smoke and that's not something my computer does is smoke because it's a terrible habit especially for computers and it should know that but I'll talk with it tomorrow to let it know that I'm still it's friend and think it should stop the habit because smoking bytes ... haha I made a joke there and I'll think I'll tell it that tomorrow when I mention that smoking is bad.
12:03 a.m.: Coughing fit, my right elbow hurts (smacked it on the headboard during the fit).
12:23 a.m.: Roll onto my left side, thinking I'm doing a great impersonation of that girl in Young Frankenstein with the "Roll, roll, roll in zee hay." She would be proud. I wonder what she's doing now and if she's single. I'm single. Maybe she's single. Maybe I can ask her out and make her a cake. To hell with my lamp. It's telling me it's a bad idea. My lamp should feel lucky I know Morse code, since it's mute and can't talk any other way.
12:53 a.m.: Why am I still awake? Why am I still awake? Why am I still awake? I realize I can make new words out of that expression, like "Am I still awake? Why" ... man, I'm clever. Gotta tell the computer about that one tomorrow.
1:13 a.m.: Roll on my left side, immediately have a coughing fit, roll back on my right side. My stomach now hurts.
1:37 a.m.: I'm asleep ... yea! I dream Bing is cussing my father out on the phone. That seems weird ... wow, I love sleep ...
1:39 a.m.: Coughing fit, my tongue now hurts because I tried to scream "damnit" while coughing and bit my tongue.
1:54 a.m.: Think to myself that I have just injured my strongest muscle. Wonder if I'll have to go through rehab?
2:16 a.m.: Roll on my right side, thinking that NyQuil should have worked a long, long time ago.
2:38 a.m.: There's a fly on my ceiling. I can't see it, but I hear it. How does a fly land on the ceiling? That always bothered me because I don't know. Maybe the pink sloth is still up there and he'll get him. No, he won't. He's too slow.
2:45 a.m.: Really shivering now. Really cold. It finally dawns on me that my sheets have convinced the comforter to revolt and now they're both partying at the foot of the bed. Only my trusty blanket left. Good old blanket. Feel rather like that kid from Charlie Brown. I love my blanket.
3:12 a.m.: Coughing fit, my throat is now hurting. I'm surprised by this because it seems like the most normal thing that's happened so far.
3:45 a.m.: WHY AM I NOT ASLEEP YET????? Agh! I roll over on my stomach, maybe that'll help.
3:50 a.m.: After back-to-back coughing fits, I decide that sleeping on the stomach is not an option. Feel like the Karate Kid ... side to side ... side to side ... must stay side to side ... there's no place like home ... wait, that's not Karate Kid, what is that from? It's going to drive me up a wall until I figure it out ...
4:20 a.m.: Wonder what Bob Marley would be doing right now? Why did he have to die? Why do we die? Instantly try to think of something else because if I keep thinking like this, I'll be awake for the next couple of days and I need to sleep ... maybe if I think of something relaxing ...
4:33 a.m.: I'm in a peaceful meadow ... there's no sickness ... just me with some happy people. It's nice, the sun is shining and things are beautiful ...
4:34 a.m.: Coughing fit, head hurting again, this time, so is my crotch because I think I inadvertently hit it while waving my arms around.
4:50 a.m.: What was the name of that movie? It's going to drive me crazy ...
5:08 a.m.: I have been in this bed for more than 8 hours. I think I'm being punished for something, I just don't know what yet. I wish I could pay for it some other way ...
5:33 a.m.: People are starting to stir upstairs. I can hear them getting up. Shut up, people. I'm trying to lay in my bed down here. Can't say sleep, because we'll obviously have none of that this day.
5:48 a.m.: Do I have enough money? I mean, in my wallet? I might need to buy something and they might not take a credit card, so I'll have to have money. Should I go look? No, I'll ask the sloth to do it.
5:52: a.m.: I've tried in vain to get the sloth to tell me how much money I have. He knows, but he's not telling me. I hate the sloth. I've noticed it's not pink anymore, though. It's more of a burnt orange color.
6:10 a.m.: That's it. I know I'm never going to get to sleep. It's just a waste of time.
6:14 a.m.: Coughing fit, my duodenum is hurting ... and I don't even know were that is ...
6:48 a.m.: THE WIZARD OF OZ!
7:15 a.m.: Slowly, safely, mercifully, I fall asleep.
posted by King Frank at 11:16 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home