Death Becomes Me

Since New Year’s Day, I’ve been battling the dreaded crud.  Might have been the flu, but since I’m on the downhill slope, it’s kinda moot to go to the doctor to be tested.  What’s he gonna say?  “Congrats!  You’re recovering from the flu! Give me $50 just for the fuck of it!”  Not today, Satan.  Regardless, I haven’t had fever in a few days, so I’m safe to be around others now.  However, my body is rebelling against me. It’s like it’s trying to remind me that I’m 38 years old.  “You’re not a spring chicken….slooooooow your roll”, it says.

I remember being 21, catching the crud, and going out to “college night” at the bars—on a work night.  And I’d be fine.  Fine, I tell you!  Even when I’m totally healthy now, when I think of a bar, somehow I’m suddenly adorned in pajamas, curled up in my comfy chair, and eating Sun Chips (green flavor—which I think they label “French Onion”, but they’re not fooling anyone).  I’d do that now, but did I mention the nausea? Nausea and not being able to inhale food like some post-battle, celebratory party attending Viking, just doesn’t work for me.  I’m Tubbly.  I wanna eat.

Being nauseated, yet having your stomach grumble at you in a “feed me, you fat asshole” type of way, is an unnerving experience.  It’s like being curled up in the fetal position while someone pokes you with a stick and you’re repeatedly crying “what do you want from me???” and they refuse to answer.  Did I mention that being sick, being on all kinds of medications, and being dehydrated* can also lead to some interesting dreams/hallucinations?  Well, it can.  Although, the dream where I woke up to Jodi spraying me “control the rioting crowd with mace” style in the face with Lysol was probably real.  At the very least, that shit was an omen.

Basically, my ranting thus far is a very poorly constructed explanation of why The Midnight Goose isn’t already overflowing with posts.  Coherency is not my strong suit—even when I’m not having febrile hallucinations compounded by drug induced euphoria.  I’m diagnosing myself with these two issues—again, anything to save a copay.

However, as we’ve established, I’m on the uphill journey towards recovery, so very soon The Midnight Goose will be on the path that I promised.  As soon as Jodi allows me to touch food that’s in our fridge again, I’d like to do a food/recipe post.  However, right now, I’m not allowed to touch anything in the house that she might ingest.  So, in the meantime, hold tight, keep the faith…and wash your hands often with soap and warm water whenever they appear soiled.

*Four 1-quart bottles of Pedialyte will cost you about the same as a 30-pack of Bud Light. Do what you will with that information.

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