Dear Flu,
I've nursed you well, I think, for the last four days. Your dizziness, pounding head, sore muscles and staggering exhaustion were a bit much to take, at first, but as I lay in the firm grasp of clammy sweat and sunshine-induced chills, swathed in several layers of blankets and bathrobe, we grew closer. I held you close in my arms through fitful slumber, through the strangling of my pajamas around my glowing limbs, through the feeling that every muscle and joint in my body was being slowly unhinged in the most painful way possible.
But Flu, we've grown apart. Your most potent charms have departed, and the evidence of our relationship litters my apartment - debris of cough drop wrappers, empty water bottles, torn packages of Emergen-C and a spot of dried batter on the counter from when I just had to have pancakes to sustain me through the illness. Your essence is gone. I sleep well, and no longer wake up drenched in sweat or suffering from strangely realistic flu nightmares.
And yet, you linger, Flu. The persistent sore throat and nagging cough remain. Physical exertion is still more dificult than it used to be. And this relationship is bad for me. I know it's true, and you know it's true, and I think it's better all around if we just make a clean break. That would be the healthy thing to do.
In other words, Flu -
Get. Out. I never want to see you again.
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