Between the Flu & the Olympics

My SO left exactly a week ago on a work-trip. I had a list of things I wanted to get done during the ten days he would be gone, articles I wanted to start or finish, returned manuscripts to get back out, the endless novel, as always, my secret cat book. Within two hours of him leaving, I knew I was getting sick. My throat had been sore since the day before, not horribly sore, but naggingly so. By mid-day last Wednesday, it was beginning to feel horribly sore. But I did finish the gardening article. It was mostly finished anyway, just needed another edit. Raced to the post office to get it off, and that was the last of my productivity.

By day two, my list was not getting done, or was getting done in slow-motion. Throat really sore now, chest heavy, head aching like a hammer. By day three, the body aches began. I had run out of all my medications, so I ran to town. Well, drove -- it's 26 miles! I picked up a few groceries while I was there. Good thing, too, because this thing -- this flu -- was about to take me down! Seriously.

I had a date with some friends for Saturday morning. We were going to the Heritage Home Tour they were having in town, tours of 8 different historical homes -- my kind of thing. I had bought the ticket. I was really looking forward to it, wished my SO was here to go, but he would not have liked this as much as me -- just wasn't the sort of historical thing he really likes to do. But alas, twas not to be. I awoke on Saturday morning feeling like a sick, thick, snorty, achy, hoarse blob of raw flesh.

I staggered to the kitchen to make coffee. The HOT coffee might help my scratchy throat. I dug out the Robitussin. I drank it straight from the bottle. I let the dog out but didn't go with her. Hell with it. Let somebody holler. All she would do anyway was go hunt chipmunks by the wood pile. I'd get back to her when I felt less dizzy. I flopped down in the chair with my coffee, turned on the television, which I never do when the SO is not here. The Olympics were on. I stared slack-jawed at the picture. Zombie-like I dialed my neighbors to tell them I would be skipping the Heritage Home Tour. My neighbor didn't recognize my voice. "You sound horrible," she said. "I feel as bad as I sound," I said. I hung up and staggered over to the let the dog back in. She spent the rest of the day out on the deck while I slumped in my lounge chair with my coffee and the Olympics.

I watched every single event that day. And the next day. And the next. By then, completely hooked. I lost my voice, so it was no good going anywhere. My head hurt most of the time. I was so medicated I would fall asleep in my chair and wake up when the cheering crowds on TV alerted me that something wonderful had just happened. I dreamed about Olympic events. I was back in junior high school doing tumbling routines, or trampoline routines. Baton twirling had become an Olympic event, and I was trying desperately to remember the fundamentals. We used to get tested on those fundamentals during try-outs. I worried about being too old for the event. But I did still fit in my twirling outfits, a real dream if there ever was one. It was kind of cool, though, almost like hallucinating but not quite. I'm pretty sure I was really asleep. I woke myself up snoring a couple of times.

So here it is a week later. I'm feeling better but I still can barely talk. I still have a nasty cough, and I tire so easily. My body is telling me to take it easy and I am, with the Olympics, and my new Mac Book Pro. But my list is still sitting here unfinished. And my sweet man will be home on Friday. Wasted alone time -- between the flu and the Olympic Games. But hell, they only come around every two years.

Onward ....