FamousAmos
March 2nd, 2008, 12:56:11 PM
This is the worst kind of sick. You know why? I'll tell you why.
I've got the sore throat, which means I have to spray this god-awful cherry flavored gag-inducing oral anesthetic down my throat. Sure it numbs it, but it only lasts for an hour or so, which means five more sprays again.
There's a razor blade studded marble in my chest, rattling around, whenever I cough. And it’s a dry cough, so I don't get the satisfaction of seeing a gob of goo come up to spit out into the sink. At least when I do that, it makes it seem its all worth it somehow...
I sound like your old aunt. The one who never got married because of her immodest appreciation for daisy dukes and skin tight halter tops. Never mind her hypnotic pale colored stomach rolls spilling over her waste line or her intoxicating cat turd scent she sprays on every morning, going bra-less because she can't come to terms with her ballooning weight and ever increasing age. She’s given up on hygiene, illustrated by the way her hair stands up without mousse. She sounds like she smokes 5 packs a day because she does. Not a single speckle of that heavenly voice remains that’s she used to have. It's now replaced by an ear-piercing monotone that grates your head kind of like when someone scratches a chalkboard with a blade or their long nails.
That's what I got: a horrific monotone voice that hurts when I talk.
I've got this wheeze, emanating from my oral cavity that, like a high pitched whistle, only dogs can hear. I can hear them barking right now. I swear to God, they keep coming and I can't stop wheezing.
But Amos, what about the starving children of Africa? They’re dying because they don’t have the medicine you take for granted in America. And all you’re doing is whining on your computer while you should be writing your thesis. What about them, huh?
They should be so lucky! Africa is a tropical paradise! Gorgeous weather and exotic foods! Not to mention, they’re all skinny. I haven’t fit into a 32 in god knows how long! Please, when you have a real gripe, come back later!
The medicine I'm on is reducing my mind to that of a brain damaged adolescent who couldn't stay away from the cocaine and now who takes his food through an IV attached to his arm. He’s relegated to three word sentences and we celebrate when he doesn’t poo his pants.
Not to say that I would ever dot hat because I believe I am incapable to having a bowel movement. The bile I’ve got compacted in my colon has been cooking in there for a day and, as the ancients once built their homes out of sun dried clay, you could do the same with the diamond-hard crap that begrudgingly crawls out of my colon.
My nose has a mind of its own. This is not something new. I’ve been battling my nose for years. It got me good in the early going, keeping me up late at night, running like a leaky faucet. I was even once called “nasally” by a school principal, who observed a lesson of mine.
That was the last straw, so I took my nose to task. I went the ENT which sounds cool, but is actually, an old crotchety miser who looks up your nose and tells you what you already know. So I said to hell with him until he told me about the steroid. Hah! I got you now, you little bastard! So the ENT stuck my butt with a needle and for a good year I owned my nose. But then it began to wear off…
And now, my evil nose is at full force, making me miserable 23 hours a day. Wait, what about the 24th hour? That little snot has the gall to pity me.
The dreams I've been having are terrifying to say the least.
And, the biggest reason as to why this is the worst kind of sick...I don't even have a freaking fever! I'm sick goddammit but I don't have the fever to validate my complaints.
Doing my thesis now.
I've got the sore throat, which means I have to spray this god-awful cherry flavored gag-inducing oral anesthetic down my throat. Sure it numbs it, but it only lasts for an hour or so, which means five more sprays again.
There's a razor blade studded marble in my chest, rattling around, whenever I cough. And it’s a dry cough, so I don't get the satisfaction of seeing a gob of goo come up to spit out into the sink. At least when I do that, it makes it seem its all worth it somehow...
I sound like your old aunt. The one who never got married because of her immodest appreciation for daisy dukes and skin tight halter tops. Never mind her hypnotic pale colored stomach rolls spilling over her waste line or her intoxicating cat turd scent she sprays on every morning, going bra-less because she can't come to terms with her ballooning weight and ever increasing age. She’s given up on hygiene, illustrated by the way her hair stands up without mousse. She sounds like she smokes 5 packs a day because she does. Not a single speckle of that heavenly voice remains that’s she used to have. It's now replaced by an ear-piercing monotone that grates your head kind of like when someone scratches a chalkboard with a blade or their long nails.
That's what I got: a horrific monotone voice that hurts when I talk.
I've got this wheeze, emanating from my oral cavity that, like a high pitched whistle, only dogs can hear. I can hear them barking right now. I swear to God, they keep coming and I can't stop wheezing.
But Amos, what about the starving children of Africa? They’re dying because they don’t have the medicine you take for granted in America. And all you’re doing is whining on your computer while you should be writing your thesis. What about them, huh?
They should be so lucky! Africa is a tropical paradise! Gorgeous weather and exotic foods! Not to mention, they’re all skinny. I haven’t fit into a 32 in god knows how long! Please, when you have a real gripe, come back later!
The medicine I'm on is reducing my mind to that of a brain damaged adolescent who couldn't stay away from the cocaine and now who takes his food through an IV attached to his arm. He’s relegated to three word sentences and we celebrate when he doesn’t poo his pants.
Not to say that I would ever dot hat because I believe I am incapable to having a bowel movement. The bile I’ve got compacted in my colon has been cooking in there for a day and, as the ancients once built their homes out of sun dried clay, you could do the same with the diamond-hard crap that begrudgingly crawls out of my colon.
My nose has a mind of its own. This is not something new. I’ve been battling my nose for years. It got me good in the early going, keeping me up late at night, running like a leaky faucet. I was even once called “nasally” by a school principal, who observed a lesson of mine.
That was the last straw, so I took my nose to task. I went the ENT which sounds cool, but is actually, an old crotchety miser who looks up your nose and tells you what you already know. So I said to hell with him until he told me about the steroid. Hah! I got you now, you little bastard! So the ENT stuck my butt with a needle and for a good year I owned my nose. But then it began to wear off…
And now, my evil nose is at full force, making me miserable 23 hours a day. Wait, what about the 24th hour? That little snot has the gall to pity me.
The dreams I've been having are terrifying to say the least.
And, the biggest reason as to why this is the worst kind of sick...I don't even have a freaking fever! I'm sick goddammit but I don't have the fever to validate my complaints.
Doing my thesis now.