Still Sick

Oh, the joys of being human and susceptible to a damn cold. Can we just talk about the sheer ridiculousness of it all? Stuffy nose and runny nose at the same time. What the actual hell is that about? It’s like my body can’t decide if it wants to suffocate me or drown me. Pick a lane, nostrils! I’m either fighting to breathe through what feels like cement blocks lodged in my sinuses or I’m wiping away a steady stream of snot that’s apparently determined to sabotage every tissue box in a five-mile radius.

And the headache. Oh, the headache. It’s like there’s a tiny construction crew inside my skull, pounding away with jackhammers just for shits and giggles. Every throb is a reminder that my brain is trying to escape through my forehead, probably because it’s sick of dealing with this nonsense too. As if that wasn’t enough, let’s add some body pains into the mix. Because why not? It feels like I’ve been run over by a freight train, dragged through a field of sharp rocks, and then tossed into a pit of angry raccoons. Every muscle is screaming, “Why, oh why, do you hate me so much?”

Of course, there’s the fever. The cherry on top of this delightful sundae. I’m either freezing my ass off under three blankets or sweating buckets and contemplating stripping down and setting up camp in the freezer. There’s no in-between, just a rollercoaster of body temperature extremes that make getting anything done absolutely impossible. I have a to-do list longer than a CVS receipt, and yet, here I am, rendered useless by this viral shitstorm. Tasks are piling up, deadlines are looming, and my productivity has plummeted to levels that would make a sloth look industrious.

People say, “Rest up, drink fluids, and you’ll feel better soon.” Well, thank you, Captain Obvious. It’s not like I’m actively trying to feel like death warmed over. I’d love to rest, but every time I lay down, my nose clogs up like a backed-up sewer, and I’m left gasping for air like a fish out of water. Drinking fluids is a blast too. Especially when every swallow feels like I’m sending a fireball down my throat.

So, here I am, surrounded by a fortress of used tissues, chugging orange juice like it’s my last hope, and popping cold medicine like they’re candy. All while cursing the universe for this exquisite torture. If anyone needs me, I’ll be here, wallowing in my self-pity and contemplating the absurdity of a cold that can’t decide if it wants to plug me up or make me a human faucet. Cheers to modern medicine and the miracle of the human immune system. What a time to be alive.