potentialities

You know how you read about heroin being invented for use as a cough suppressant and you think whoa, that sounds like some crazy overkill? And then you get a serious business cough and you think, no, actually, some heroin sounds great right about now?¹

So yeah, I've been coughing my damn head off for nearly a week now and it's really starting to get to me. Combined with the full-body ache and the quasi-feverish inability to concentrate on anything, I've been gravitating towards undemanding tasks like rereading old Trixie Belden books and rewatching old episodes of That Mitchell and Webb Look, because even non-sketch television shows require too much sustained attention. I did make this icon, though, because the illustration was too cute and I couldn't resist (and now I wish all my Trixies were the so-called deluxe editions, because the interior illustrations are gorgeous. I have three of them, along with a mix of oval paperbacks and "ugly" hardcovers, plus two cameos, which also have nice interior illustrations).

For the curious, in this scene Honey is equipping Trixie with a fake diamond ring to wear in place of her real one, which she has gotten her parents to remove from their safety deposit box, ostensibly to impress Honey's visiting cousin Ben but in fact as a deposit on a used car her brother wants to buy.²

[Honey] linked her arm through Trixie's and she strolled down the stairs. "Jim and I think you're just wonderful, Trixie. Practically perfect. So don't pay any attention to Ben when he makes stupid remarks. I mean, don't stay away from here all week on account of him. The house party is all set. Di has accepted. I invited her for the whole vacation when I asked her to come out today because I suddenly remembered that she and Ben are both music-lovers. They'll probably spend the whole time listening to records, so we won't ever see them, except at meals." She stopped to catch her breath.

Trixie hugged her arm. "You're the one who's wonderful, Honey," she said softly. "Practically perfect."

Sharp-eyed BSC fans will notice that I used Kristy's handwriting font. It's pretty similar to the handwriting used for Trixie's "signature" on the book's endpapers,³ it was already on my computer, and it makes a cute kidlit girlslash Easter egg.


¹Don't do heroin.

²This scheme is in fact every bit as harebrained as it sounds and in fact in many respects this book does not hold up so well, alas.

³The previous owner of my copy of The Mystery Off Glen Road, one Janelle Johnson, taught herself to forge both Trixie and Honey's signatures. I did likewise, although since I didn't actually write on the book's endpapers I don't know where my own efforts are.

When I had that bad cold/flu/unspecified virus that turned into bronchitis, I was making up laundry lists of all the things that I absolutely required to survive.

Now that Stan has something that sounds vaguely flu-ish, I can't even get him to want anything. He keeps languishing in bed all pathetic-like, but I've barely gotten him to take me up on a glass of water and some ibuprofen.

I'm sure this is indicative of something.

I went to my actual doctor on Wednesday to figure out what was wrong with me, because not only was I still coughing, but I felt like I'd been run over by a truck, and even I couldn't believe that this was a normal stage of recovery.

It turned out that I had (spoilers!) bronchitis. This was a relief at the time, because my hypochondriacal web browsing the night before was leading me to conclude that I either had contracted pneumonia, had asthma, like my grandfather and my brother and my aunt who was just recently diagnosed even though she must have had it all her life, or, of course, both, with the former triggering the latter in a neverending cycle of DOOM.

I was prescribed a course of antibiotics and, in a pleasant surprise, was not allergic to them. I also got my own albuterol inhaler, a taste, literally, of my brother's medicine. It was very slightly soothing to my unhappy bronchial tubes, and I suppose that I coughed slightly less and slept slightly more soundly than I would have without it.

As it was, I slept for practically five days straight. Gradually I was able to stay awake and focus for longer periods of time, working my way first through a stack of Baby-sitters Club books that my mom had picked up for me at a garage sale, conveniently placed by my bedside, and later through series three of New Who, watched with my mother and in the living room.

I have just now gotten back to the internets, sweet internets (skip=400, oy). See, there are computers at my parents house, but you have to sit up to use any of them and I really was not feeling up to that ...

I cannot say that I recommend bronchitis. Unless you have enemies, in which case I will recommend bronchitis to them and gladly!

ETA: Was there ever any good Master/Doctor fic written that any of you are aware of? I mean, those episodes were basically porn and I want more.

* (still more) cough syrup
* benzocaine lozenges for my sore throat
* Excedrin for my raging fever and my sore everything else
* chamomile tea
* comfort audiobooks (Anne of Green Gables)

Two more hours, two more hours, two more hours ....

It is a bad idea to wear six months worth of disposable contacts for two years. Sure, everything seems to go swimmingly for a year, eleven months and a couple of weeks, but then one day you find that you can't look at any form of light source without being stabbed repeatedly in the eyes.

I got Stan to drive me to work, since I was completely incapable of looking at the bright unrelenting world outside of the car and experimenting with various contortions to block the evil sun from my vision. At work, I ended up squinting painfully at my monitor with my right eye, which was the more painful of the two, almost entirely closed.

At some point I realized that a.) this was not normal, and b.) this was not going away. I asked my mom for her advice and she was the one who figured out that it'd actually been two whole years since my last checkup. They advised that I come in immediately, which was fine with me because I wasn't exactly getting a ton of work done while squinting.

Conclusion: inflammation of the corneas caused by excessive wearing of worn-out contacts. I have to put in corticoid drops four times a day and, of course, refrain from wearing contacts until this inflammation has been relieved and soothed. It is difficult to get a prescription filled when you can't see anything. My glasses aren't a huge improvement, since they're a couple of prescriptions out of date and also scratched up all to hell, but still, I like seeing. It is useful to me. I really appreciate the technology that lets me have perfect vision without thinking about it very much, although apparently I should be thinking about it slightly more often.

I am out of the original TheraFlu with pseudoephedrine in it. My mom bought some of the refomulated stuff and it does nothing for me.

I am also out of Cadbury eggs.

Please someone come and shoot me and put me out of my misery.

Your ancient scientists, mostly known for their amusing gaffes, used to think that snot was brain matter. Which, charming visual aside, is not all that unbelievable a hypothesis, since, say, a really bad sinus infection is not all that unlike having brain matter leaking from your head, seeing as how it has a way of making you really, really stupid.

Happily, I am no longer expelling brain matter at a dire and alarming rate. Therefore: does anyone want me to rant about anything?

Gacked from, among others, the fantabulous makesmewannadie:

( The Rules, if you haven't seen them previously )

I have a sinus infection. Not unrelatedly, I have the towering intellect of a mosquito on speed.

This should probably be borne in mind.