Pointless, As In Lacks a Point

As a sworn hypochondriac, it’s my moral duty to distinctly remember every time I was really sick, not the in-my-head sick of every other day. And oh how I remember in vivid, technicolor detail. Let’s see, there was the time I was 13 and felled by some mysterious virus flu microbe that made my eyes sensitive to light and my stomach unwelcome to food. I threw up every 20 minutes for two days, and right when the puking stretched itself out to every two hours, my parents left me in their bed clutching a plastic green bowl while they hightailed it to an Anne Murray concert.

What can they say?

They had pre-ordered their tickets.

It took me awhile to recover from that one, and if my mom were still alive, she’d still be hearing about it. Now I just tell God and hope she eavesdrops.

I wasn’t really sick again until I was pregnant, which doesn’t really count, except I can’t erase the image of me, three months pregnant, eating Mexican food with friends, then immediately barfing my chunky bean burrito into the restaurant’s dumpster.

That was illustrious.

No, the next time I was sick, really, really sick, was at the age of 37 when I came down with the flu. I don’t think I’d ever had the flu before then and it sucked the biggest donkey balls you could possibly imagine. I hallucinated, I sweat my teats off, I shook with fever, I couldn’t move for days. And let me just say? If you’re a hypochondriac? Being that kind of for serious sick is spooky. Even taking Tamiflu didn’t help and I was too weak to thumb through a People magazine, which is just an outrage because every mom of small kids knows the only time you have to catch up on fluff is when you’re sick.

Since then, there’ve been other sick times for sure, but nothing as bad as the above. Except for maybe now.

Currently, I have two phantom fists pummeling my neck into a raw expanse of swollen muscle, and like I said earlier today on Twitter, my throat feels like someone mowed it with a razor. Plus, I’m weird tired; crazy, stupid tired, and if one more millimeter of hot snot comes dripping out my nose, I’m going to yell weakly. My eyes burn and water, my teeth pulsate, and every now and then I twitch. But maybe that’s unrelated to being sick. How the hell do I know? My brain is melting from the hot snot germs.

I really don’t know where I was going with this.

Somewhere dead-endy to be sure.