I am writing this blog on
Friday January 30, 2015. Christmas Day 2014 (December 25,
for anyone unfamiliar with Christmas) I contracted a viral infection. I believe
I caught the bug on a plane en route to Saskatoon.
I could be wrong. I could have caught it from a telephone, or a human being, or
a turnstile. All I know is that for just over five weeks (has it only been five
weeks?) I have had a cough that rattles everything in my vicinity.
At week three I broke down and went to my doctor. She asked if I wanted antibiotics, just to shut me up. I relented and said yes, even though I knew they wouldn't do anything. They did do something though. They made my face swell up. I looked like Phil Kessel should, every night he is on the ice trying to pretend he's a team player. I dislike Phil Kessel. In fact, I dislike the Toronto Maple Leafs. No -- I find the storied franchise and its fans preposterous. But that is another blog...
Excuse me, I just dredged up some mucus, in the shape of Phil Kessel.
My cough erupts from a gooey subterranean nether region, somewhere between
Hades. If Boris Karloff had a baby, it would look like the chunks I hork. I
sound like a gunner who smoked three packs a day on the Eastern Front.
Has it only been five weeks?
I don't know why I am so sick. The human body is a marvellous thing, when it is not gross. This is not a bacterial infection, and I don't have pneumonia or whooping cough. It is simply a persistent invader. Kinda like Phil Kessel should be, in the offensive zone.
I will shake this off soon. Either that, or I will be pulling along an oxygen tank on the subway. One good thing -- people move away from me on the TTC. It's great, but a little sad.
So, don't cry for me
Cry for Leaf Fans. I will be okay.
When is Dyson going to invent a vacuum for post-nasal drip?