Being Ill Is So Tedious But It Saves On Psychedelic Drug Taking
The last time I went a little mad it involved Harry Potter way back in August 2005 and whilst it was a crazy night it was, at least, more fun that this time around. On Tuesday night/Wednesday morning I spent the hours sweating as the brain raced over and over again a Google Apps migration ... you have NO idea how fucking tedious that was especially as it was a successful, not difficult and "worked first time" migration.
Over and over and over again.
I really did think I was going mad at some point. I recall waking up early in the experience, after yet another successful fucking migration to Google Apps, and thinking, "Bugger me, I must've been asleep for ages" ... it was 11:32pm, I had been asleep (if that's what you can call it) for about 3 hours, maximum. The whole night of endless successful migrations loomed ahead.
It was hell but I got through it.
Wednesday is lost to me. Thursday emerged out of the fug as an actual day with a start and a finish and the fevers had definitely gone. Friday was the day I went to the doctor to get pills as a throat is designed to enable 2 things, swallowing and talking (breathing, 3 things, the throat is designed to enable 3 things, Christ I didn't expect the Spanish Inquisition ....)
On Thursday evening as I put Jack to bed (neither child really keen to have me do that over the past week, "I might catch something and die like Dad") he asked me, "Dad, why do you make that face now and again?" ... face, I was making a fa--- oooh, the wince of agony*. I explained that every time I swallowed the saliva going down was full of red hot needles that were there to rip away at the already red raw throat with a goal of ending my life before slithering out to find another victim AND ensuring that I both made "the face" (sometimes with a raising of a leg) and whispered, "fuck!"
I used slightly different words with Jack but he got the gist.
Of course I'm all better now having kept up my fluids (cheers Che), got over the Man Flu (thanks Luke) and looked after myself (top advice loads, no really, it was nice to receive the odd cyber-hug now and again). The penicillin was probably the key though.
And my wife carried on around me, the house ran as it always does and the kids had school, enjoyed having mates over, after went to and came back from activities. Great to be in such an understanding and loving partnership.
Oh, one final incident made me giggle - the doctor listened to my story, but then wondered why I didn't have a cough and a runny nose which, apparently, is de rigueur for this flu thingy I had. Nope, I had the sore throat which, according to my smiling Doctor, was far more common in children. I am a child at heart, even to the bugs of the world.
* The Wince of Agony, great name for book four in the "Legends of Lafar", or some such post-Tolkien bollocks.
Photo: "1 if 3 Zoom blur experiment - Wood by mikebaird, on Flickr
Over and over and over again.
I really did think I was going mad at some point. I recall waking up early in the experience, after yet another successful fucking migration to Google Apps, and thinking, "Bugger me, I must've been asleep for ages" ... it was 11:32pm, I had been asleep (if that's what you can call it) for about 3 hours, maximum. The whole night of endless successful migrations loomed ahead.
It was hell but I got through it.
Wednesday is lost to me. Thursday emerged out of the fug as an actual day with a start and a finish and the fevers had definitely gone. Friday was the day I went to the doctor to get pills as a throat is designed to enable 2 things, swallowing and talking (breathing, 3 things, the throat is designed to enable 3 things, Christ I didn't expect the Spanish Inquisition ....)
On Thursday evening as I put Jack to bed (neither child really keen to have me do that over the past week, "I might catch something and die like Dad") he asked me, "Dad, why do you make that face now and again?" ... face, I was making a fa--- oooh, the wince of agony*. I explained that every time I swallowed the saliva going down was full of red hot needles that were there to rip away at the already red raw throat with a goal of ending my life before slithering out to find another victim AND ensuring that I both made "the face" (sometimes with a raising of a leg) and whispered, "fuck!"
I used slightly different words with Jack but he got the gist.
Of course I'm all better now having kept up my fluids (cheers Che), got over the Man Flu (thanks Luke) and looked after myself (top advice loads, no really, it was nice to receive the odd cyber-hug now and again). The penicillin was probably the key though.
And my wife carried on around me, the house ran as it always does and the kids had school, enjoyed having mates over, after went to and came back from activities. Great to be in such an understanding and loving partnership.
Oh, one final incident made me giggle - the doctor listened to my story, but then wondered why I didn't have a cough and a runny nose which, apparently, is de rigueur for this flu thingy I had. Nope, I had the sore throat which, according to my smiling Doctor, was far more common in children. I am a child at heart, even to the bugs of the world.
* The Wince of Agony, great name for book four in the "Legends of Lafar", or some such post-Tolkien bollocks.
Photo: "1 if 3 Zoom blur experiment - Wood by mikebaird, on Flickr
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