Wednesday, December 19, 2012
Bottom of a Birdcage Mouth
So why is it that when you're sick, your mouth feels like the bottom of a birdcage? What is that? It's like the virus crawls up onto your tongue when you sleep, lies there overnight all cozy and pasty white under you uvula, clutching your tonsils and adenoids as fleshy stuffed toys for comfort. It spreads out across your tongue and glories in its stench. My cat padded up to me in bed this morning. I said "Hello," and she looked offended. And this is a cat who cleans her own ass - badly.
Bright side - Although I am muzzy headed, I have this week to get better before I have actual things that I have to leave the house for. Annnnnnd... that sentence made next to no sense because apparently my brain, in addition to my other organs has been affected by whatever that virus ridden toddler slipped me.
It's my own fault. I mean, toddler fingers are yummy and sweet and you usually get a laugh when you suck on them. But I knew. I KNEW as soon as those fingers went into my mouth that I should have rinsed with scotch right away. But now it's too late, because everything that kid touched (floors, walls, his nose, other people's noses/mouths) that day is now making its way through my system, one exhausted, achy muscle group at a time.
I have family members who were down and out for the count over Christmas - actually unable to get off the sofa - quarantined, able to interact only with other infected members of the family. I wanted to go round and wrap them all in Christmas garlands and twinkle lights so that their barfy, fever of 104, nearly comatose holiday was a bit more festive - except I didn't want to touch them or breathe in their air. I'm kind-hearted and all, but not after I've already suffered from my own week of the flu.