Your cocktail sir,





2007-02-14 - 7:56 a.m.

This morning I awoke to find my head had siezed up like a Chevy engine without oil. Copious amounts of steam in the shower managed to unlock enough phlegm in my mouth so I could taste the metallic tinge of cracked, dry lips.

Now I'm mainlining Airborne gummies (I know they are for children, but those tablets hit my stomach and are sent right back to the chef, and if you thought they tasted icky going down, the encore is far worse) and attempting to sip from the thick fruit slush that is the C-Monster. It's not cutting the phlegm holdouts in my throat, I may switch to Green Tea later.

In spite of this head cold I find myself at work, gamely going forward, not as a martyr but really, because owning your business sucks. Small business is a bitch. It really is. Right now every hair on my body (and trust me, there are a lot of them)is connected directly to the pain center of my brain and anything I swallow requires special dispensation from the throat, and I'm at work. This does not happen in corporate America.

However, we small business are the Salt of the Earth or some such nonsense, and so we all soldier on. There is no hope while one is sick, only the immediate misery that seems like it will never go away. Unlike other ailments, like broken bones and bruises, it's easy to convince myself that it's only temporary. But with colds, it's just misery, misery, misery, and how dare I find some brightside to this! I'm sick, God Damnit! The world will end before I'm better! I might as well just die! And then it stomps off to its room to listen to Fall Out Boy on maximum volume while blogging on its myspace page that I'm ruining its life.

previous - next

Zen and don't cry out loud - 2007-07-29

Zen and the stumbling rocks of fitness - 2007-07-19

- - 2007-07-11

Zen and fasting - 2007-06-20

Zen and hiccups - 2007-06-18

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