So this is how this week went down.
Virus [enter, stage left, masquerading as a cold]: grrrrrr….
Me [casually tossing Tylenol at Virus]: Ehhh….shuddup.
Virus [now in possession of 100 degree fever]: GrrrRRRRrrrrr….
Me [pelting Virus with ibuprofen]: Hey, I told you to get out of here!
Virus [now doubled in size, carrying 102 degree fever]: Snarrllll….GrrrrrrRRrrrr…
Me [shooting cough syrup soaked ibuprofen at Virus with slingshot]: Down, Rajah, Down!!!
Virus [now in possession of 103 degree fever and fangs]: RRRRRRRRROOOOOOOOOAAAAAAARRRRRRRR!!!!!!!
Me [hiding under credenza]: mommy!
So in desperation I called Himself home yesterday and we went to the doctor, where I was apparently the first flu case this season. But since I didn’t even get a t-shirt or anything I think is basically a rip-off.
The office also told me that my namby-pamby doses of ibuprofen were, well, namby-pamby and that no self-respecting virus was going to take me seriously if I was going to shoot it with the equivalent of a water pistol.
Well excuse me for following dosing direction.
I am now officially two weeks behind on my life, which is causing me to feel a little panicked.
Not that I can do much about that at the moment. My big accomplishment so far has been to walk out to the family room to have my coffee this morning.
We have a family room. I’d forgotten.
But…I am able to sit upright.
I have the laptop.
And I no longer have disturbing fever images of the love child of Meredith Viera and David Bromstead in my head.
One step at a time.