Still sick.

Actual screen shot of me chatting with my brother. The computer recognizes the sickness!

It came out of nowhere on New Year’s Eve, and has yet to realize it is unwanted and unwelcome.  Tonya thinks it is the flu.  I have no idea.  All I know is that I have been scuttling around the house like an inner-city thug.  Everyday, I am clothed in sweat pants, thick wool socks, couple of t-shirts and a hoodie, with the hood over my head.  Silly, because the days have been quite pleasant, in the mid to upper 70’s. Me?  I act like I am on the verge of the point of frost.

Mexico sucks when you are sick, but thankfully, I am not sick with stomach issues.  Hopefully too, I pray I do not get sick with some parasites and stuff either.  One of my main questions is, if Alka-Seltzer cold medicine is made in Mexico, why can’t I buy it here?  I suppose it is typical Mexico, there is no rhyme or reason and never, never expect any type of continuity other than poverty and not being able to drink the water.  You can buy this type of medicine here, but not there.  The choice of goods is so erratic and unpredictable.  Not only that, but taking these assorted medicines, all I do is pee and fart.  Cold medicine truly does a number on me (though some may say it is no different than any other day)

Personally, I think I was a bit over zealous.  By midweek, I wasn’t feeling completely like crap, so I thought I was iron man and could get out to go meet some friends and run some errands.  One day, just going to the store and carting a large bag of dog food and a 20 liter jug of water laid me out for the rest of the day.  I thought I could meet friends.  By the time that was over I was an oozing mess. 

On Thursday, I went for quite a long walk with Tonya.  It was unreasonably hot, and it very possible served as my undoing.  I was wobbling by the time I got home and have not recouped.  It also opened up the faucet known as my sinuses.  Wobbling down the hot street, my language was less than proper as I was expressing the need for Kleenex with lotion.  When we arrived at a local store, they had racks of all sorts of Kleenex.  They even had advertisements for the Kleenex with lotion…but did they actually have any? No!  Tonya asked if I wanted the anti-viral Kleenex.  I think we are too late for those.  There was a box of tissues claiming to be three layers of extra softness.  These would have to do when the ones with lotion are nowhere to be found.  My nose knew no noticeable difference with the triple layer softness.  It did, however feel as if three layers of skin had been peeled away form the tissues.  Obviously, to people here, tissues that feel like thin sheets of paint-grade plywood is pretty cozy.

I rubbed lotion under my nose the rest of the night.  Each time I did, it stung it was so sore and raw.

Tonya asks me how I feel, and I just mumble, “like sh*t”.  I try not to be too optimistic because whatever it is just keep coming back, just when you think you are near the finish line, life throws the proverbial banana peel out in front of you.

Whenever friend shave called, they ask how I am.  They all say the same, “You need to drink a lot of tequila, and then go to bed…”  I would love to, to be honest.  I just feel paranoid taking medicine where the capsules look like they were put together in someone’s garage and made out of recycled plastic from old models.  I also feel strange buying medicine from guys who look like they are 15, and know more about Eminem than the drugs they are passing over the counter.

Of course, this house does me no favors either.  It is angular, cold and sterile.  Basically, the Mexican version of an old ice box but with windows.  The floors are tile, the walls concrete and it holds the cold like a champ.  I thought it was bad when it was actually cold outside; it has to be at least 10 to 15 degrees colder inside.  You bundle up and walk outside and feel like a complete idiot because you are the only guy on the block dressed for winter.  Now, even though it is warmer out, I still feel icy cold.

During the summer, it was common place for the power to go out and water to vanish.  Today, while battling this second wave of whatever it is, my lifeline to civilization went out.  The internet.  I cannot communicate with anyone in the real world.  Thanks to technology, we are able to watch cable TV over the web, but now…I just sit and listen to the sounds of a cold, austere house.  During my regular coffee time, Tonya and I were laughing about what a drab day it had been.  We were both lamenting the fact that we could not even stare at horrible reality shows, and all we could do was to stare at each other.  Of course, from her angle I imagine it to be truly tiresome, seeing this greasy haired, bleary eyed sick guy in a hoodie.  I remembered that I had a DVD of a documentary about Bollywood.  “Go get it” she said.  Halfway up the stairs I also remembered I had the documentary about the hillbilly and old time country dancing I had yet to see.  She told me to grab whichever, and a bit of common sense said she would enjoy flashy colors more than a two-bit hillbilly in the back hills of who knows where.

The documentary was just under an hour.  It was all old footage, from a special on the BBC in the early 80’s.  It showed a village with a double wedding happening; a pair of 6 year olds and a pair of 12 year olds. “How can they marry 6 year olds?” Tonya asked aghast.  With tired and fevered breath, I utter, “its India…”  They may marry kids way too young, but Indians look awesome.  By the time the 56 minutes were up, I was over taken with the evening onset of whatever this is.  I told Tonya I needed to rest, and she said she would start on supper.  I popped two pills, grabbed a blanket and lay on the couch, pulling the hoodie all the way over my eyes.  As I lay there cold, yet feeling the heat started to wash over me, I felt an opposing small bit of cold and wet at the tip of my nose.  Dash had walked up, ever so silently and stuck his nose under my hood to check on me.  He stared at me, letting me know it was his aim to get on the couch with me.  I oblige, pulling the covers back and raising my legs, like doing some sort of Jane Fonda exercise routine.  He hops up, and plops down, strategically hitting a very sensitive and private part of me.  All is weight slams onto this defenseless section.  I let out some sort of yelp.  Tonya asks if I am ok.  It takes me a minute to answer, and the pain has started me to have a fit of coughing.  I just lay there and try to drift off and get some strength.

Tonya walks in and goes to the cabinet and says, “I am having a tequila.  I know you can’t” I hear the door open, the bottle chug and a quiet sip.  It truly sucks being sick.