I am sick. Bronchitis. I think. I’m not actually sure. I went to that doctor place (If you will recall last fall I wrote all about it and included instructions on how to make your own yurt out of the paper they put on the examining tables. You’re welcome.) and the sort-of doctor (they call them nurse practitioners) listened to my chest. I informed him that my chest always sounds good when I have pneumonia like I did last fall. He prescribed me antibiotics and had a nurse give me two shots – one in each cheek. Not my face cheeks.
At the SAME TIME, several states away, my psychic twin, Merbear, experienced tingling in her bum cheeks. Coincidence? I think not. If we can just get our evidence together, we are totally going to get a spot in a Time Life book, provided they ever make one again.
Anyway, he didn’t feel the need to tell me what was wrong and I didn’t feel the need to ask. Meds. Woot. The promise of lifting the brick off my chest. I liked that idea. I’m not sure why I keep getting sick. It could be the asthma and allergies and the fact that I am allergic to the entire planet. Or that thick layer of dust that lays on my blinds. And my chest of drawers. And the entertainment center. And the floor. I looked at that a lot while I was lying in bed and pondered this. Then I went to sleep.
I missed some work, but now I am back and fit as a fiddle, which really isn’t fit if you think about it. A fiddle is kinda pear shaped, which is better than apple shaped, but still not exactly model potential here. I think you’d need a flute for that. But I’m here. I slept relatively well thanks to codeine which was brought to me by Jeremiah the bullfrog. I never understood a single word he said, but I helped him drink the cough syrup.
What was I saying? Yes. I am at work. I am here. I think. A student walked in and out and later my boss asked if he was here and I was like, um, yes. I mean no. Wait – who? Did I imagine him? Possible. I’m going to go with yes. I said yes. I am slowly sliding out of my chair.
Earlier I tried to print something. I sent one page to the printer. I thought I did. Instead the printer decided to print the entire document, which is a very large document, so I said “Stop it,” and smacked the cancel button. After spitting out three more pages, it stopped. Good. So I tried sending the one page again. And it started printing the entire document. Again. So I started smacking the cancel key, again, and this time I was really getting personal. “Stop it! Stop itttttt! Now, now, now, you stupid printer!” And it stopped, because it ran out of paper. So I put more in. And then it started up again, spitting out the entire document, only this time starting all over again at the beginning.
I hit cancel again and turned it off, and then on. That solves everything. I hit enter, and guess what it did? If you guessed tried to print the entire document again, you win! I mashed the button, and said some more choice words, and might have done a little dance of Anger. At some point, it finally decided to print out just one page, the page I wanted in the first place. And then I realized I really only needed to just write down one sentence from that page and it would have been fine. This whole time my boss had been watching me. I’m not sure if I was entertaining her, or if she was just too nervous to intervene.
I might not be ready for work. My head feels like it is filled with cotton. I keep sliding out of my chair. I stare at the screen and see tiny pixels dance across it. I swear the codeine had to have worn off by now. Where am I? I don’t even remember driving here exactly. Soon I will go downstairs and serve coffee in the library coffee shop. Why? I don’t know. That doesn’t make sense when I’m well. I am certain they will appreciate the extra cough with the coffee. Do you get it? I don’t either.
It is 10:45 AM. I only have to make it till 5 PM. What time is it now?