Pass the tissues

Well this will be rather random and make no sense. That’s what happens when one uses an enormous amount of cold medicine and sleeps less than a bat with too much caffeine. I figure this could end up being either amusing or make no sense what-so-ever. Either way I blame the cold medicine.... too bad we can’t do that everyday of our lives eh? (And yes before anyone says anything I just have a small cold not pneumonia.)

First of all I have recently discovered that while sick I seem to lose the ability to think. And I’m not talking about deep philosophical discussions either... No, I’m talking about paying for my food in the drive through and then driving off. Nothing makes you feel more like a dumbass than some poor employee running after you to hand you the sub sandwich that you probably shouldn’t be eating anyway. What made this incident particularly bad was that I had to go inside and tell the counter person that yes I was indeed the moron that took off without their food. I really don’t think the snickering I heard was necessary, but I probably deserved it. However, if you think that this is an isolated thing you’d be wrong. Sadly I have done this several times. I’m also the person that walks into the drugstore with no clue as to why I was there in the first place.

Going to the drugstore while sick is an interesting experience. Now if you are lucky enough to live with someone you probably don’t have to do this. So let me give you a run down of what it’s like. First of all you wander in trying not to look like death. I shall steal one of my favorite lines and say that you look like you were on deaths door but the bouncer wouldn’t let you in because you don’t look sexy enough. Yet you try to straiten out your sweats that have at least 3 holes in them and tuck the Kleenex you stalked up on for the drive back into your pocket. Sadly your sense of direction seems to be hindered so you just kind of wander around with no clue as to where to find the drugs.... you hope they will be the kind that shoot out of a gun and could take down an elephant. They have to keep the elephant tranquilizers in there someplace right?

Finally you find the cold medicine aisle. You would have found it faster but the employees see you coming and scatter not wanting to catch whatever it is that made you look like the walking dead... that and the fact that you aren’t exactly Mary Sunshine at this point. You stand in front of what looks to be 8 billion boxes of goo, pills, sprays, liquids, and snake oils all guaranteed to take away whatever ails you. It’s the same feeling one must get when standing at the foot of a small mountain.... like Everest. You have no idea what to do. The music that is drifting over the speakers is making you want to sway. “I can do this” you chant to yourself. So you do what everyone before you has done. You pick up the most colorful box and attempt to read what symptoms it’s for.... a process that would be much easier if you hadn’t drained what was left of the last bottle of cough syrup a half hour ago and your swaying that is making the letters move about.

Here is where the real problem comes in. The blue box will fix your throat, the red your nose, the orange your sneezing and coughing but not the headache, the green will cure your runny nose, but yours is also stuffy which needs the yellow box. Here's where you just want to cry. What do you do? You can get them all... if you want to pickle yourself. No you need to make a choice. And there is no way in hell you are getting something that isn’t extra strength. Who buys something that might as well say, “This is a placebo, it won’t make you feel better, but it’s cherry flavored.” Then you have a sore throat so you know that if you get a pill it has to be smaller than a Buick... this leaves out 80% of your options. Now you just blindly grab a few options because you are getting rather tired and only one eye will stay open. You’ll just have to hope that when you get home you can figure out what the hell all these things do. You of course make sure to nab a package of cough drops even though in your kitchen drawer there is probably 3 others from the late 70’s. You are now ready to head to the counter and get home to your electric blanket and daytime television.

You head to the checkout line and realize that you need to blow your nose. Not the most pleasant thing for someone to witness. The problem is your hands are full. Now you have to become the irritating sniffer. Everyone knows what this noise means and gives you a 10 foot bubble of personal space as if your germs can’t reach outside your containment field. You get to the front of the line finally and plop everything on the counter. Looking up you notice that the checker looks like a camp counselor and you just know she will be chipper. For those of you that don’t know... sick people don’t want to deal with chipper. We want to kick you in the head, but we are too weak so we just sniff and fumble for a tissue and mentally curse your name.... Amber.... Bubbles... Kandy with a K... whatever.

We hand them the money with a shaking hand and nod to some asinine question like, “So are you not feeling well?” I should hope that people would assume that I'm sick and don’t just go gallivanting around town looking like an Adams Family reject. But you nod and attempt a smile as you snatch your bag away from them and their “have a nice day” smile. Stumbling to your car you start dreaming about being home already.

Once home you dump out your stash. It’s just like you used to do on Halloween except the candy on Halloween tastes better. You sift through just barely stopping yourself from taking one of everything. You find what you are searching for and take more than the recommended dosage. You don’t care now... What you're looking for is the nighttime, sniffling, sneezing, coughing, aching, stuffy head, favor, how the hell did I fall into this coma medicine. Now if you could just get the puppy to stop raiding the trash for Kleenex you’ll be happy.

“Never go to a doctor whose office plants have died.” -- Erma Bombeck