Posts Tagged ‘ getting sick (actually) ’

When snot keeps you from putting the “labor” back in Labor Day.

It’s Labor Day weekend and I don’t have time to be sick.

It’s not a particularly large illness, as it were, but it’s your garden variety Cold That Doesn’t Allow You To Breathe, and I’ll be damned if I can schedule in a serious case of congested nasal passages. I have two paintings due by next Wednesday, a model to make for a public arts project proposal, a commission to start, a job application to fill out before my interview next week — which, of course, will involve sweet calls to my friends scattered across the nation, wherein I beg them to vouch for my charming countenance, ability to stay on-task, and go-get-’em attitude. (Naturally, no reader of this blog will be allowed to be listed as a Personal Reference. Ever.) And did I mention that it’s Labor Day weekend? You know, the last damned break I get before the trees go to skeletons and the wind is too bitter to consider any semblance of recreational joy? Why yes. Yes, I did.

And yet, here I am in Congestionville, USA. It’s a very sexy destination if you’re into dripping noses, uncomfortable pressure on your eardrums, and the siren song of a honking, circus-red nose. Before everybody starts lining up to take me to the Miss Mucous pageant, however, let me just mention that I’m attempting to change the course of my present physiology. “What? No!” you’re crying, “Say it ain’t so!” Oh, but it is, my dear, faceless and anonymous friend. Oh, it is. I just finished with a futile attempt to spicy out my sinuses with an ramped-up leftover curry+sriracha cure and a steam bath of thyme is presently beckoning to me with curly little tendrils of love, care, and perhaps comfort. Something I learned from the Sinus Infection From Hell last semester: never underestimate a good steam bath for your schnoz. Granted, I’m not breaking out the Afrin for this particular trip until the absolute last minute, but I do believe in the power of herbs that are not of the marijuana sort.

I’m trying to imagine myself a month ago in this state. It would have involved sulking in my sickness, feeling feeble and incapable of doing jack crap because oh my God, I’m sick. I wouldn’t have touched this but rather went back to sleep or to watch Create re-runs/entire seasons of Anthony Bourdain: No Reservations whilst feebly sipping peppermint tea and sighing. Life is so hard when you’re congested, oh woe is me, &c. It’s funny what mild depression relapses will have you do, I think, such as believe that the only thing between you and creating greatness involves a pile of Kleenexes and a pounding headache. On the other side and you’re just like, “This is a bunch of bullshit, pure and unadulterated crap. Now let’s steam the fuck out of my head, take some Advil Cold and Sinus, nut up, and shut up — not necessarily in that order, either.”

I think I’m going to keep it this way. Maybe. Knock on wood.

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