Thursday, August 15, 2002
My get-well strategy
I felt the cold coming on on Monday; just a tickle in the throat. Tuesday dawned with the nose that would not stop running and Wednesday introduced the throat of a thousand daggers that slept over to today. All the while the achy-ness kicked restful sleep to the kerb.
All this in the week I had to do most of the number crunching for my boss' paper that had to be ready by 5pm today, so goodbye any hope of taking time off. I fought small skirmishes as best I could, taking care of the nose issue with pseudoephedrine and repelling the throat nasties with a combo of lozenges with anaesthetic and black tea with honey and orange juice (I forgot to get lemons).
Time for a change of tactics. I have to be fighting fit and ready to party like 'twas 1982 for Ms O's twenty-seventh birthday party on Saturday night. There'll be fairy bread and lolly bags and giant twister and musical chairs and I'll be damned if I'm missing out on all of that.
So I'm missing out on hanging with the gang at the pub tonight and tomorrow night, I've told the boss that I'm not going in tomorrow, probably even be on the sidelines of the battle for the glory of the Happy Christmas Professor Ovington 1970 Cup Plate Shield on Saturday morning, and I'm facing up to the inevitable; the only way to kick this is to stop fighting the symptoms and let the immune system do its thing. I've cooked up a big pot of spaghetti bolognaise containing three large onions, four cloves of garlic, some olives and various herbs, I'm keeping up the fluids so much that the bathroom is now where I spend much more time than usual and I have some kick ass painkillers that'll pretty much knock me out for at least 8 hours.
Once I'm done eating I plan to curl up on the couch (the ABC has some good programming tonight), take two write-your-will-you're-going-into-an-eight-hour-coma tablets and fight this cumu of a cold off old skool style.
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