Robitussin has helped put the brakes on what's otherwise been a miserable week. It's funny, because this should have been a good week: wrestling's wrapped up, no traveling - hell, no working - this weekend, a mid-week birthday celebration, warmer temps on the way.
Yet here I sit, feeling as bad as I've felt in some time.
I'm not nearly as dependent on sleep as my wife, who needs her eight square and feels the pain if that doesn't happen. I can usually get by on a solid six hours or an average seven. As best I can recall, I slept OK on Monday night. Tuesday night, I was a little less than OK; it took me a while to fall asleep for whatever reason.
Then came Wednesday, when things went from decent to crashing, kinda like last week's Dow Jones Industrial Average. I guess, in its own way, this is my body's idea of a market correction.
I went through the day feeling OK, but not great: pretty tired, rather unmotivated. I got everything done I needed to do in time to get out and fight the snow all the way to D.C. for a birthday celebration. Traffic was slow, but not unbearably so.
I should have known something was up when we wound up at the Irish Times on Capitol Hill. I had a grand total of five beers over the course of three hours; a decade ago, that would have been akin to milking. But I set a good pace for myself, enjoying each beer without overdoing it. (I still had to drive home, mind you.) I don't think that's overdoing it for someone as wide as me.
You have my word that when I left, I was fine to drive home. Perfectly sober? No. Comfortable enough to drive? Absolutely. (Again, you have my word that I know my limits and won't hesitate to let people know when I've had too much.) Made it home without incident.
But once I got home, it felt like I was at or over my limit. I just felt really out of it - exhausted, with a touch of unsteadiness. How could that happen?
Most of all, I was dead tired. If you'll notice, most of these entries are posted well after midnight; my usual bedtime is between 2-3 a.m. Yet last night, I could hear myself snoring on the chair a little after midnight. I gave up and went to bed, beginning the most challenging night of all.
I was really stuffed up throughout my nose, making it nigh impossible to not breathe through my mouth. I dozed off quickly, but awoke around my normal bedtime of 3 a.m.; I was unable to get comfortable again and laid awake for a solid 30 minutes. I did drift off eventually, but was woken up two hours later when friendly neighborhood kitty Grace decided to bound up for a visit. Then I'd drift off again, and Grace would come back. I'm certain she managed to wake me up on about four different occasions.
Around 9 a.m., I was really comfy cocooned in the bed. But I couldn't find a comfortable spot - again - and decided I just better call it a morning. I got up and was absolutely unmotivated to do anything. It took me around 90 minutes from out-of-bed to into-car. Normally it's a third that long.
I made it to work and got started on some small things I needed to do. But I couldn't ever shake the fact that it felt like I was in this thick fog all day; time damn near stood still. My computer told me it was 2:30, but it felt like 4:30. I felt so tired that the rest of me just felt sick; even a quick bite from McDonald's did nothing but ease the pain of emptiness in my stomach. I thought maybe it would provide an energy boost, but no luck.
I bailed out of work early with a legit excuse. I came home to take a nap which was largely successful and, thank heavens, cat-free. The nap at least managed to lift the fog that I had walked around with all day.
Still, things didn't get a whole lot better. I got quite phlegm-y and found the need to have Kleenex by my side. And because of all the phlegm, I started to get a wicked cough too, such that my throat is now quite sore because of it.
But, never fear, 'Tussin to the rescue. I'm with Chris Rock on this one.
When I was a kid, that's all we had was Robitussin. Whatever you got, Robitussin
better handle it. I broke my leg once, daddy poured Robitussin all over it.
[Pretending to be his father] Yeah, boy! Let that 'tussin get in there. Let that
'tussin go down to the bone! If you run out of it, put some water in the jar,
shake it up, more 'tussin! MORE 'TUSSIN!
It's worked so far, thankfully. The phlegm has largely disappeared from my throat, meaning less coughing. My throat feels better too, so it doesn't hurt nearly as much to cough. I guess that's all I can ask for at this point.
I can't tell if this is one of those 24-hour sicknesses or something more extended. I'm hoping for the former, as we've got some plans with friends this weekend that I'd hate to back out of. But you do what you got to do, right?
Well I'll be damned...this sure turned into a long post. Especially since I could have done it in four words: I FEEL LIKE SHIT. Sorry to have rambled on so long about nothing, really, but it's kind of all I got. Deep thoughts and complex sentence structure just ain't in the cards tonight.