It's that seasonal allergy time of year for me and yesterday, I didn't even give it a second thought when I woke up sneezing. My only complaint about allergy season is that I'm allergic to allergy medicines. Yes, you read right. I am allergic to allergy medications: Benadryl, Sudafed, NyQuil, Advil, and the list goes on. Therefore my only relief from allergies is steady course of tea, tissues, and Vicks*
So I woke yesterday thinking that my allergies were acting up and I decided to just go about my business as usual. Sneezing, peeing my pants, blowing my nose, lubricating my nose with Vicks. By mid-day, though, I started noticing signs that I might be on my way to a real live cold/flu.
SIGN 1
My faithful old Macbook is rapidly heading for Sugarcandy Mountain (after being held together by tape, stickers, rubber bands, glue, etc.) so on Saturday morning, I bit the proverbial bullet and bought new Macbook Pro. I wisely (or not) opted to set up the machine on my own as I didn't want to wait for the Geniuses at the Apple Store.
By Sunday morning I realized that I needed a firewire cable to effectively transfer some of data from my old Mac to my new Mac (as performing this function wirelessly can be disastrous). Sneezing, sniffling, peeing, blowing, Vicksing, I went to Radio Shack, bought the cable with cash, told the cashier not to bother with a bag - my attempt at going green - and I headed for the grocery store.
I arrived at home a few hours later, unloaded the car, packed away the groceries, and sat down to work on my data transfer. I tore open the plastic box containing the cable, attempted to plug it into my new machine, only to realize that it was the wrong cable AND that I actually already owned the proper cable. I neatly (or not so neatly) shoved the cable back into the plastic box (with some newly added dog and cat hairs) and dug through my pocketbook for the receipt. Which was not there. I searched my car. My pockets. The garbage. Nada.
And then my sign. I started crying. Crying. Really crying can't catch my breath crying like a little kid who's so pissed at his parents that they do that choking, sputtering, can't talk thing. I don't know why. It wasn't that expensive and I wasn't that upset. AND it wasn't the first crying fit of the weekend. I cried on Saturday over a facebook incident.
You see, my son, Ethan, since he was a baby, would cry, become intolerable, whine, and moan for exactly two days before getting sick (he got sick a lot...I got valium). So apparently, this crying before illness is a family trait.
SIGN 2
Same day, Sunday. I returned to Radio Shack, foggy headed, sneezing, sniffling, peeing my pants, forgot tissues, Vickless, eyes swollen almost shut. I heard the cashier say something like, "Remember you (head spinning), can't refund until tomorrow (nose dripping), 24 hours for cash transactions, (fog thickening), you didn't open the box did you (ears ringing), just come back tomorrow."
Grateful, I staggered toward the exit, nose mid-drip, opened the door, and was taken aback by the blinding effect that the sun's rays had on my pinkish, drippy eyes. As I got closer to my gray Kia Sorento, I thought it was queer (not gay queer, puzzling queer... I'd like to bring "queer" back in its original form. It's a dandy word that I think would add pizzazz to our daily speech. Think of it. "What a queer essay you've written, Susie!" or "This milk tastes queer! Does it smell queer to you?" or "Look at the queer way the dog is sniffing that other dog's bum!") that my car looked white in the sunlight. I pulled at the door handle and pressed the remote, not really fazed by the fact that it wouldn't unlock, but more so, curious about the can of Coke in my cup holder, as I don't drink Coke. As I clicked, pulled, sneezed, peed, dripped, and peered through the window, I couldn't for the life of me remember when I bought the GPS device that sat atop the dashboard and connected to the car's lighter via an unfamiliar black cord. Things were getting really weird and spinny in my head.
Approximately 5 minutes passed and I contemplated calling someone at home to bring me a spare set of keys, because apparently, the battery was malfunctioning in my remote (it didn't dawn on me to try the key). Then I took a step back into a man who was looking at me with a queer look on his face. I looked at him with an equally queer look on my face (double entendre) as he clicked the remote on his key chain and the lights blinked on the car that I had been attempting to enter (thankfully, as I just said, it didn't dawn on me to try the key). I slowly clicked my remote, looked at a gray Kia Sorento that was parked two spaces away from where I was standing, and saw the lights flash.
I'm almost certain that you've done the same thing at least once in your life, but I'm gonna go out on a limb here and say that you didn't stand in front of the wrong car for more than a few seconds.
(Here's another story of mistaken car identity as told by The Doublemint Brah'z. I find this to be particularly disturbing given A) My current state of fluish mind and B) Identical Twins scare the beejeezus outta me)
I'm not sure how I made it home, but I'm pretty sure that my disorientation in the parking lot should have been a red flag that my current state of health (mental or physical) was not up to snuff (sniff, wheeze).
SIGN 3
I called out sick today at about 5:30 a.m. and I'm now watching Kathie Lee and Hoda. That's the sign. Under normal circumstances, KLG & H would not remain on my screen even for the second that it takes to channel surf past it. I know, I know. People love them. Even my BFF, Marygrace, who won't read 50 Shades WILL watch KLG & H! But I just can't watch, not even for a second, without getting angry. I mean ANGRY. But today, it's on. And I'm not changing the channel. ONE- because the remote is across the room and I don't have the strength to get it. TWO - Barry Manilow is on and, at first, I thought it was Clay Aiken. And I'm mesmerized by the lack of movement in Barry's mouth and jaw as he sings "Oh Mandy" with Kathie Lee (who, as usual is shoving Hoda aside and hogging the screen because she thinks she can sing)
(Here's something really queer. As I was looking for photos of Barry Manilow and Clay Aiken, it dawned on me just how many celebrities bear a striking resemblance to one another.)
On that note, I'm home sick today. The signs are all there. Before I go, I just want to add that I typed this entire blog entry this morning, swiped something on my new Macbook Pro, and deleted the entire thing. And then I cried.
I'm going to bed now.
*Warning: One should never vigorously rub one's eyes after lubing one's nose with Vicks. Secondly, one should never use Puff's Plus with Vicks in one's bathroom when one is out of toilet paper. Trust me.
I'm sorry to hear how busy you had to be while getting so sick. I hope none of my silly comments added to your crying. You got a funny car story out of it so far. I hope sleep helps and you feel less awful by this evening.
That Vicks can really come back to bite you in the butt! BTW, I'm sorry I sent you my blog to publish when you are feeling so crappy. If I weren't on the other side of the country & in that time zone limbo land - I probably would have sent it to you anyway, but not when you are sick...