Tag Archives: sick

Head cold brain fog

 

I finally finished something! My little horror comic is all done. See how cute and horrible it is. Joel is definitely me, going to work every morning. Witness the melodrama.

https://www.webtoons.com/en/challenge/last-minute/list?title_no=276285

Being sick actually helped get this done. My brain was in a weird fog. I spent a long time sitting in my car in the parking garage because I got distracted by the weirdness of my tongue in the rearview mirror. It’s such a horrible gross alien, all twitchy and purple and veiny and sluglike. I just stuck it out and moved it around and marveled that I was in control of this thing. After a while I realized, I’d been doing this for god knows how long, and I needed to get a drink of water, and drive home.

Then I got home, and Don said something about the cat doing something, I don’t know, I don’t listen to him much 😉 and I thought about saying, “It wouldn’t be outside of the realm of possibility” in response. But I got mentally hooked on that phrase and was like, how long did that take just to say in my head. It’s the longest possible phrase. I say that all the time, too. Did I say that just now? I’m not sure. Why don’t I just say maybe. Could I find a LONGER phrase than “It wouldn’t be outside of the realm of possibility?” Could I BE any dorkier?

But when I called in sick, I just spent all day staring at the computer screen with the paint bucket tool, connecting lines, clicking fill, connecting lines, clicking fill. The whole damn thing got done. I am really amazed that I got anything done in the state of mind I was in, but if I were in a normal state of mind, I probably wouldn’t have done jack.

I didn’t used to be affected by colds this way. I’m not sure if this comes from getting older and being just more susceptible to everything, or if it is simply a matter of me not being as repressed, so I allow myself to get emotionally and mentally affected by things. It was kind of fun, except for the occasional drowning in my own excretions.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

 

 

The Vermeer

After the manner of Vermeer: a beautiful redhead in silk performs her household chores in quiet peace. She squats before a litterbox, scooping feces and excrement, but the fortunate child does not grimace, as she cannot smell anything. This is rendered apparent by the artist’s acute attention to detail: notice the watery snot dripping from one nostril, straight into the bag of scoopings. Her eyes are distant, as if imagining a sunny pasture far, far away, or perhaps she is writing a blog post in her mind. A shaft of light from a household 60-watt bulb basks the scene in a warm glow, drawing the viewer’s focus toward her nostrils, which are brightly limned in variegated reds.

Yes, dear ones, this is my current reality. Remember, it is a sin to envy another’s situation. I’m sure everybody wishes they lived in the domestic bliss of a Vermeer.

 


 

 

That was last night. This is today:

 

IMG_20190326_075927012.jpg

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

 

 

 

Journal – Haggifying

I tried to draw for Inktober tonight but it was so abysmally bad, even I am giving myself a break. Mostly I’m just happy to still be able to talk, and breathe. It’s been an increasingly gross day. I’m watching this virus bloom in the warm culturing agent that is my body. My throat is closing up, a tiny series of trap doors, and with each one I lose another note to my voice. My coughs are coming more frequently now. Sometimes I have a sudden unpleasant awareness that I’m running out of air, drowning in my own fluids.

Why can’t colds leave as fast as they arrive?

 

Going for a walk with sick coworkers

K sounds like she has no nose

Uncharacteristically pepless.

H is physically weak

She nearly falls over trying to take a photo.

I cough and rasp my way through each sentence

But talk a lot more than usual.

Together we walk our fifteen minute break

Slowly

Cackling like old hags

Trying not to laugh too hard at ourselves

Lest we spur on another pulmonary problem.

“Flash forward thirty years,” I say,

“And this will be our constant reality.”

Let the healthy young men and women beware

The three plague sisters.

Flee from their slow, repulsive approach!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

 

 

The Thing in my Throat

 

I want this thing in my throat

To grow legs and crawl out of me

I want it to wander the world

And learn wisdom

I want it to ponder the mysteries of the universe

I want it to talk with sages

About God and the meaning of life.

I want it to meet lots of other things with legs.

I want it to go on a shonen training arc.

I want it to come home to me

Wiser, stronger

Fierce brave and bold

I want to see its journeys in its demeanor

I want to be proud of it

Right down to my bones

And I can call it my son

And it will know I am its mother

And then

I can wrap it in a tissue

And flush it down the toilet

But only

After it’s lived a full, full life.

I hope one day

To raise the thing that will best me.

But until that day

This stupid shit will keep happening.