Saturday, April 29, 2006

A Nose In Need Deserves Puffs Indeed

Didn't leave the house at all yesterday, way too sick. I sent Tah to go deposit my check in the bank. So all that ish I was talking the other day isn't going to happen until I can actually move. I'm writing this right now on his lap top.
This ain't hardly allergies, this is a full blown cold. Coughing (hacking rather), sneezing, post-nasal drip (you know that thing tghat happens when you try to sleep and you sit up in the middle of the night with an itchy, aching eustachian tube as whatever is in your nose drips to the back of your throat?), and achy body. I drank a half a bottle of NyQuil the other night and it put me to sleep but it gave me really bad cotton mouth. So when I finished it I drank about a gallon of water. Ma thinks NyQuil is overmedicatin myself (apparently, she doesn't seem to realize that this is no longer allergies, yet a bad case of spring nasopharyngitis. I'm pissed because it's not helping my already stellar mood from the occurences of this week. I switched from NyQuil to Benadryl. Ma was shouting something as I went to the store this morning:
"Loratidine! Get Loratidine!"
"Ask the pharmacist. It's generic Claritin!"
Fat chance, ma. I want the fast remedy. "Can't I jsut get NyQuil?"
"It's too strong. This is only allergies! You're gonna make yourself sick!"
Ma, if this were merely allergies, I wouldn't have that Death, take me now feeling running thorugh my body and mind.
"And would you get me some coffee?"
She takes hers large with cream and three sugars. I would rather be dead than drink coffee; I stick to my meds. "Yeah."
"Don't forget to get Loratidine!"
"Ma, I'm gonna get the Benadryl."
"How much is it?"
If you don't let me get to the store, I will never know. "I don't know, Ma. Like five bucks."
Turns out it was six bucks. I got back, drank a third of the bottle, some water, blew my nose, and went back to sleep. I'm miserable. Everytme I sneeze, my throat hurts worse (if any of you say a goddamn fucking thing about the cigarettes I'll smack the shit out of you) and I've been spittin up these gross globs of pleghm all day. I hate that word, it's so nasty. So I bid thee good people adieu until I can, in the immortal words of Mrs. Braxton, breathe again.


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Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep. If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take and may this song play all the way, through. And if it skip a beat, hit repeat, this the realest shit I ever wrote, this is me. If it skip a beat, hit repeat, This the realest shit I ever wrote, this is me. -Juelz Sanatana, This Is Me, What The Game's Been Missing