Last week, I hid something from the blogging “world.” I, once again, came down with a cold. Sort of like the one I had a couple weeks ago but instead of my head feeling like it was full of bricks, this one just felt like someone had thrown a brick and hit me directly between the eyes. Thirty-seven times.
I spent any time I wasn’t slaving (read: dead-woman walking) around at work staring down one of many boxes of Kleenex or down the neck of the Zicam bottle wondering just how many I needed to swallow in order to get the Mack truck off my forehead. For someone who never gets sick, this one was showing me who’s boss. It’s like when you trip over something but recover, then look back to see what you tripped on and end up biting it, and cracking your head open. It’s saying HA! got ya this time, dumbass!
Thursday and Friday nights, I was pretty sure I was going to die if not from the fever than from the wicked hallucinations the fever and/or the “nighttime” version of my cold medicine was giving me. I always thought the special ingredient included to help you sleep was alcohol, turns out it’s LSD. I know this is not super exciting but if a woman made of leaves (and sounded like leaves in a tree blowing when she walked) came into your bedroom, you would want to talk about it, too. Like I said, LSD.
During the time I wasn’t making new friends in my bedroom, I spent on the couch where my dog wanted to remind me that yes, it was in fact over fifty degrees outside and therefore, no time to wither away like this. How I managed to pick up a camera during all this will just have to be one of life’s great mysteries. I wasn’t thinking clearly seems like a good excuse.
I felt a little more human on Saturday morning, which was nice because I had an appointment to get my hair done. Priorities, obviously.
Then, Saturday night came and it rained. As unique as this is for Colorado in March, I wasn’t as captured by that as when I walked outside (during the rain, while sick…. I know, I know), took a deep breath and began to feel better. For the first time, my head was clear. It only lasted a moment but for that moment, the reflection of the streetlights on the pavement was my light at the end of the tunnel. It was now possible I was going to live to see Sunday, and maybe even Sunday afternoon. There was hope.
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Sunday did come, and suffice it to say, it was like a new beginning. There was still a truck parked between my eyes but it was more of a half-ton pick up than the Mack truck of the days before. It was also a beautiful day and being able to breathe again, all I wanted to do was get out in it. I felt like a new person, a person that used to run on nice days.
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I know, my intelligence just keeps rearing it’s dense head throughout this post. But why concentrate on that when I can tell you about how I laced up my shoes instead? Except for the almost constant need for Kleenex, I was feeling so much better. So I headed out the door, ready for whatever the day would give me. And having no pockets, well I learned of other places handy for holding Kleenex.
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I only got about two miles out when I realized it just wasn’t going to be a great run. As I was deciding to turn home, I saw a tractor parked in a lot just two miles from my house. We don’t do a lot of farming or loading of farm/ranch type of things ’round these parts, so you can imagine my first thought: crap, the meds have not worn off yet.
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Just to be sure, when I got home I drove back to take a picture. I would have done the same had it been a UFO because, you know, otherwise no one would have believed me.
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