Maybe it was too much elf dancing.
Maybe it was that the old magic has worn off.
Maybe it was too little eggnog too late.
Or, maybe it was just the way it was going to be - no matter what the reason.
The tree was up, the house smelled pleasantly of pine, the lights twinkled and I was pleased. Then I awoke in the wee hours and felt something in the back of my throat. I thought, "just go back to sleep, this is something that you can fight off with your own mental powers." No big.
I can home from work early on Monday. I was not well.
I dragged myself upstairs and voluntarily quarantined myself in the guest bedroom. I would await my death in dark silence, or I would emerge triumphant. No one checked on me, I lay and slept with fevered dreams alone, fighting my moral failings for allowing myself to be overcome with fever and lung congestion.
I got up and tried to do a little work back at the office on Tuesday. I thought, what is the point of all of this unproductivity? You'd be better off in bed. I agreed with myself (as usual) and returned to my sequestered existence in the upstairs guest bedroom.
Late past twilight, when it was already dark, I woke to pee. There were no lights on in the house. Who needs lights? It is a short trip down the hallway to the toilet and then back to the guest bed.
I slumped through the door of my space of convalescence, ready to get back to bed, I threw myself back onto the pillow - eventually. What I had not counted on in my fevered half-conscience state in a somewhat unfamiliar space was that in the short trajectory between where my feet were beside the bed and the fall-line trajectory I casually calculated to place my head back on my sick pillow; there happened to be a bureau placed next to the bed. It was dark, I think my eyes were closed, and when I dropped to where the pillow was, I was intercepted by that bureau, which has a sharp right-angle corner between where my head was and where my head was headed. In an instance I was reminded of the furniture placement inside the dark guest room.
Ouch. I wished I had not done that.
I lay on my back for a moment feeling the smarts of hard furniture on my right eye socket. Then I felt my eye socket fill will warm fluid. What a bother, now I'm bleeding. This usually means I am a good candidate to pass out into deeper darkness once I see my own blood. However, since it was dark and I had no mirror, I was in luck - I had no way of seeing my own blood flowing onto my skin. I moved quick since I was lying on a newly acquired pure white duvet on the guest bed - imagine the bloodshed if I had the audacity to bleed on our new white duvet. I was able to throw myself back out of bed (avoiding the bureau this time) and stride into the bathroom and wad a fistful of toilet paper over my right eye. A good and prudent first step.
I poured myself downstairs in the dark, stumbled to the laundry closet where I fished one-handedly for a rag and then shuffled to the freezer to grad an ice cube. I put the ice inside the old rag sock and went and sat in the dark corned at the dining room table. My wife came in from after work shopping. Noticed me and asked "what are you doing there in the dark?"
Trying to stop the bleeding I mentioned in a casual tone.
Not one to panic, she told me stay right there - "I have to pee".
I did not move. She did what she needed to do.
She put the groceries away and turned on the light, found some band aides (I wanted dinosaur band aides - but we were out. I was told I'd have to get used to disappointment) and stuck them to my eye lid telling me I had a big gash in a very hard place for her to manage first aid. I was not all that sorry for being so inconsiderate and bleeding, I thought she'd have to get used to disappointment - but I thought the better of saying it aloud). I asked her to check the white duvet. It was thankfully blood free, I only had a few drops of blood fall on the bathroom linoleum. I had not fainted on my travel downstairs and I was feeling proud of my stamina.
Still suffering with fever, I went to the doctor the next morning and told him I was not feeling well. He looked at my right eye and the fresh scab and asked if I'd been lipping off to my wife? I admitted it was all my own doing, me tangling with the guest room bureau. He gave me some antibiotics - even though we both knew I probably had a virus. But it was just in case there might be another cause for my illness. He cheerfully diagnosed my suffering as "You've got the Christmas Crud". I paid my $40 co-pay as I left his office with a script and a diagnosis.
I was never pretty. With my new owie, my looks were not improved.
It was a Double Whammie: Christmas Crud and a cut eye beating.
This double whammie set my Christmas shopping and decorating way back. But like Rocky Raccoon (The Beatles, 'White Album'); Doc it's only a scratch and I'll be better, I'll be better as soon as I am able.
Maybe it was that the old magic has worn off.
Maybe it was too little eggnog too late.
Or, maybe it was just the way it was going to be - no matter what the reason.
The tree was up, the house smelled pleasantly of pine, the lights twinkled and I was pleased. Then I awoke in the wee hours and felt something in the back of my throat. I thought, "just go back to sleep, this is something that you can fight off with your own mental powers." No big.
I can home from work early on Monday. I was not well.
I dragged myself upstairs and voluntarily quarantined myself in the guest bedroom. I would await my death in dark silence, or I would emerge triumphant. No one checked on me, I lay and slept with fevered dreams alone, fighting my moral failings for allowing myself to be overcome with fever and lung congestion.
I got up and tried to do a little work back at the office on Tuesday. I thought, what is the point of all of this unproductivity? You'd be better off in bed. I agreed with myself (as usual) and returned to my sequestered existence in the upstairs guest bedroom.
Late past twilight, when it was already dark, I woke to pee. There were no lights on in the house. Who needs lights? It is a short trip down the hallway to the toilet and then back to the guest bed.
I slumped through the door of my space of convalescence, ready to get back to bed, I threw myself back onto the pillow - eventually. What I had not counted on in my fevered half-conscience state in a somewhat unfamiliar space was that in the short trajectory between where my feet were beside the bed and the fall-line trajectory I casually calculated to place my head back on my sick pillow; there happened to be a bureau placed next to the bed. It was dark, I think my eyes were closed, and when I dropped to where the pillow was, I was intercepted by that bureau, which has a sharp right-angle corner between where my head was and where my head was headed. In an instance I was reminded of the furniture placement inside the dark guest room.
Ouch. I wished I had not done that.
I lay on my back for a moment feeling the smarts of hard furniture on my right eye socket. Then I felt my eye socket fill will warm fluid. What a bother, now I'm bleeding. This usually means I am a good candidate to pass out into deeper darkness once I see my own blood. However, since it was dark and I had no mirror, I was in luck - I had no way of seeing my own blood flowing onto my skin. I moved quick since I was lying on a newly acquired pure white duvet on the guest bed - imagine the bloodshed if I had the audacity to bleed on our new white duvet. I was able to throw myself back out of bed (avoiding the bureau this time) and stride into the bathroom and wad a fistful of toilet paper over my right eye. A good and prudent first step.
I poured myself downstairs in the dark, stumbled to the laundry closet where I fished one-handedly for a rag and then shuffled to the freezer to grad an ice cube. I put the ice inside the old rag sock and went and sat in the dark corned at the dining room table. My wife came in from after work shopping. Noticed me and asked "what are you doing there in the dark?"
Trying to stop the bleeding I mentioned in a casual tone.
Not one to panic, she told me stay right there - "I have to pee".
I did not move. She did what she needed to do.
She put the groceries away and turned on the light, found some band aides (I wanted dinosaur band aides - but we were out. I was told I'd have to get used to disappointment) and stuck them to my eye lid telling me I had a big gash in a very hard place for her to manage first aid. I was not all that sorry for being so inconsiderate and bleeding, I thought she'd have to get used to disappointment - but I thought the better of saying it aloud). I asked her to check the white duvet. It was thankfully blood free, I only had a few drops of blood fall on the bathroom linoleum. I had not fainted on my travel downstairs and I was feeling proud of my stamina.
Still suffering with fever, I went to the doctor the next morning and told him I was not feeling well. He looked at my right eye and the fresh scab and asked if I'd been lipping off to my wife? I admitted it was all my own doing, me tangling with the guest room bureau. He gave me some antibiotics - even though we both knew I probably had a virus. But it was just in case there might be another cause for my illness. He cheerfully diagnosed my suffering as "You've got the Christmas Crud". I paid my $40 co-pay as I left his office with a script and a diagnosis.
I was never pretty. With my new owie, my looks were not improved.
It was a Double Whammie: Christmas Crud and a cut eye beating.
 |
| Man eyes bureau in the dark- Not a pretty sight |
This double whammie set my Christmas shopping and decorating way back. But like Rocky Raccoon (The Beatles, 'White Album'); Doc it's only a scratch and I'll be better, I'll be better as soon as I am able.
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