Being infected with influenza away from home has proven to be one of my least favorite things. Add it to the list right beneath mistaking oatmeal raisin cookies for chocolate chip and just above my glasses fogging up on frosty walks across South Green. What terrible tribulations!
I’m not sure what it is making me cough and quiver and ache and groan and moan and sneeze sneeze sneeze - A virus, a flu, a common cold, what’s the difference really? I don’t need a diagnosis, I need determination. I need to kick this sickness’ ass! When some punk vandalizes your vehicle or bullies your little brother, are you more satisfied by learning their name and a little bit of background, or by throwing punches against their problem-causing kisser? Haymakers all day baby.
That’s my mindset and that’s my goal. Haymakers. I’m going to throw figurative and effective haymakers at this unspecified infection until I have the energy of a bunny again. Strategy is key. It’s time to be proactive and so far, popping Vitamin C tablets and tearing through tissues (donated by my dearest Alley Taylor) has yielded less than satisfactory results. So, it’s time to be more proactive. Last night, NyQuil took me away for a solid 13 hours. Rest ✓. I tried flooding out the bacteria I was housing with two bottles of Simply Orange (generously provided by Rachel Loewendick). Fluids ✓. I packed a to-go box from Nelson Dining Hall with every leafy green I spotted, along with an apple, melon chunks, and yes an M&M cookie. Give me a break, it’s the only good thing in my life right now. Vitamins ✓.
Mind power is my priority at this point and this very blog post just might be first evidence of that effort. My purpose is not merely to gripe in ink, but rather, to inspire myself. This is a pep talk. To me.
I wish I could see the slimy face of whatever it is inside of me that makes me want to sleep straight to death. I’d say to it, knock it off chump. I don’t know what’s more threatening than 1950s greaser slang. I hope my OJ is getting the message across, like a cold and nourishing liquid form of the middle finger.
My dear mother has offered to bring me home more than once, using ever-so-tempting phrases like “cook for you.” She clearly knows what she’s doing. However, I refuse to want my mommy. I refuse.
Today, I drank three bottles of water to cleanse my body and put on real people pants to empower my spirits. I think I’m on the right track.
Tonight to soothe my throaty discomfort and avoid morning alarm negligence, I think I’ll turn to chamomile instead of those dangerously effective over-the-counters. Take that you congesting creature! Chamomile is practically nuclear warfare.
I feel neither physically beaten nor emotionally broken by this bastard of a bacteria. I feel enraged. Perfect.
I will smother this sniffle-filled hell.
I should download Eye of the Tiger.