59. Groggily


Ever since getting off the plane from Tucson, my throat has clogged up with mucus and raspberry pain, like a raspberry bush sprouted in my throat. It’s fuzzy, and irritated plus the rasps along the vocal chords vibrate with each breath. Occasionally a threatening sensation sets off a coughing spell, especially when I lie down to sleep. It feels like a nasty moth or flying beetle has landed on the irritated raspberry branch. Oh, Robitussin, cling to my raw skinned larynx, my lizard tongue, my cottage cheese vocal chords!!! Put out the smoldering golf ball coals embedded in my neck.

Then there is the clogged head feeling, stuff that needs to drain is not able to release. My head swells and a slight fever rises. I come and go in waves, like a small boat on easy waves rolling under it. I rise and fall behind my dry eyeballs. I am not sick enough (I think) to go to the doctor and yet not well. The mucus has dried up and shrunken back, but I still sound like a Mafia loan agent. (Notice that I did not say “shark”.)  I avoided the phone for several days because I did not want to scare folks with my graveled voice. Dry eyes, fatigue, even the arches of my feet ache slightly. Watching television feels too hard! Recline mode engaged. This has got to move on…and it does in small increments.

I rest when I can. I napped at the bank drive thru window the other day until Brett, the rising teller/real loan boy (notice I did not say “barracuda”) got on the microphone and asked me if I was asleep. “Not now, Brett”, I growled. That was a week ago, and here I am whining seven days later, thinking about a nap after being awake for three hours. Ray Charles is singing “I’m Busted” and I can give him an Amen!

‘ I know it will lift, and that I can’t quit, but I’m busted.  In the dog days of summer it’s just a doggone bummer to be crusted. I feel like a good garden spade left out in the rain now I’m rusted. Won’t somebody please, take this pressure from me cuz I’m robitusted.’

Okay, enough whining, wheezing and whimpering. What’s the point?  There must be a point. Actually, no. Bowling balls have no point. Phlegm balls have no point. Even points under high magnification (check Wikipedia here) have no point. That deficit enables them to keep rolling groggily along. I am blogging this under officially sanctioned impairment and am not responsible for any stated or implied guarantees…cuz I’m busted.

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