So, apparently I have to post again...because SOME people think my previous post left a little to be desired. Frankly, I think all of my posts leave something to be desired...but, here I am....ever the obliging, sweet, entertaining, funny, articulate, humble one. (I decided to quit while I was ahead, before running out of appropriate adjectives.)
Just this past week, I've had the privilege of experiencing the blissfully joyous feeling of a head cold; courtesy of my dear brother, Jimmy, who caught the bug from school. I first heard the term "head cold", when Rachel mentioned, a while ago, that some of her siblings were suffering from it. At first, I thought it meant that they simply thought they were sick, but were in fact, healthy. As in, their symptoms were purely psychological. **cough** Apparently, that's not the correct definition of a head cold... aaand, since everyone ELSE knows what it is, I shan't bother giving you a definition.
I can't believe I'm sick again!
**please allow five minutes for Lois to throw a hissy fit over the injustice of life**
My immune system wasn't always in this piteous condition. Like I've said before, I hate being sick, but it's even worse when you have to go to school. You can't imagine how wonderful it feels to ask for help in math from the scrawny, Indian tutor that's on duty, when you're visibly afflicted with a contagious ailment.
I wave him over. He brings with him a piece of paper, which, upon studying me closely, he cautiously sets down on the farthest corner of the table, taking care to avoid coming near me. I show him my problem, and ask him for advice. Gripping a pencil delicately by its eraser, he proceeds to scratch out some symbols on the piece of paper. Apparently my vision isn't what it used to be, because I can't make out anything besides chicken scrawl and ancient runes. That paper is awfully far away. So, I move on to plan B; I ask him for a verbal explanation, something he has not given me thus far, because it could damage his effort to avoid contamination. With much trepidation, he creeps slowly into the kill zone I've created with my great, hacking coughs, all the while eyeing me suspiciously. Before taking the last step, he inhales a huge lungful of air, and closes the gap between us.
He tries to expel as little air as possible in his explanation, making up for the lack of oxygen by talking rapidly and incoherently in a language I'm not sure is English. He soon runs out of air, which abruptly halts his speech. He looks at me, (at this point, I'm getting scared, because I can feel another coughing session coming on) but refuses to take a step back for more oxygen, knowing this would be rude and insensitive. (There's a fine line between surreptitiously avoiding disease, and avoiding it in an offensive manner.) Time is running out, and I'm still clueless as to the solution. His skin has started to turn an unhealthy shade of blue. Wait! His eyes have lit up... I sit, transfixed, as his lips migrate to the left side of his head... an incredible distance. He purses them, making a small "o", and sucks in a tiny stream of what he hopes is unpolluted air, before again turning to my assistance. Suddenly, I can't take it anymore.
I'm bent over double, coughing and sneezing for all I'm worth. I can literally feel my internal organs jumbling around, arguing over whose turn it is to be coughed up. The poor Indian guy took one look at the heaving, wheezing, snotty mass of humanity in front of him, and lost all of his social graces. He jerked back as if electrocuted, ran to the counter, and signed himself out of tutoring for the day.
Yep, being sick stinketh.
DISCLAIMER: I have in no way dramatized or exaggerated the event described above. Things happened exactly as I described them. Rully.
