Maybe I don’t maintain a healthy diet. Maybe some hobo sneezed on me. Maybe it’s something in the polluted air of Hell A. Maybe washing my hands every two minutes isn’t enough. Maybe, maybe, maybe don’t matter; all the matters is that I’m SICK.

Ug. It first started near the tail end of a visit from my good pal, Nate. He flew all the way from Ohio, and I planned nothing fun for us to do, but we had a good time anyway. Lots of running around town, eating, drinking, seeing obscure celebrities, and just chatting away like only people who have known each other for most of their lives can chat. But near the end of his trip, I got this cough. I figured it was maybe a chicken bone from a hastily eaten wing caught in the back of my throat and thought nothing of it. I’ll push the sumbitch down with more booze and maybe a burrito or two!

That didn’t work, but booze and a burrito are always good, so it wasn’t a total waste. Soon, the cough was joined by a headache, fever, and eight gallons of snot. Even though I’m not the manliest of manly men, I seem to have a problem with admitting I’m sick, so after taking Nate to the airport and bidding him adieu, I go to work anyway. After my first dozen messy sneezes, my boss tells me to get my ass home before I get him sick, too.

So, it’s off to my room. I start guzzling orange juice and trying to just sleep it off. It isn’t difficult for me, as I like orange juice and am very lazy. At least, it isn’t difficult the first day.

I wake up still shitty the next day and am a little surprised. An oddly sweaty stroll is taken to the local 7-Eleven to snag some NyQuil to just knock me and my little cold out… but it just doesn’t work. Hours start melting into each other, as I can only wake up long enough to realize I’m still sick.

On the third day, I decide, for no discernable reason, that I’m fine to go back to work. Weakly, as I haven’t been eating much of anything for a regular human, let alone me, I get out of bed like Charlie’s grandpa in Willy Wonka, all not sure how to walk anymore and stuff. I coincidentally sleep the same style of old man night shirt, so I do a similar awkward dance routine as well. After that, I shower and stupidly get on the road.

The sweat is flowing, but I convince myself it’s my normal “movement” sweat. I somehow make it to the office despite the fact that I’m out of my head sick and definitely shouldn’t be driving.

I stumble to my cube, and everyone greets me… which freaks me out for some reason. I inexplicably thought I was good to go, but I haven’t really talked to anyone the whole morning, and conversing ends up being surreal. I can’t focus on anything. About twenty minutes of this, I decide maybe I should finally go to the doctor.

Luckily, I get an appointment, and my doc informs me that even though my ears are the only body parts that don’t ache, I have an inner ear infection and shouldn’t go back to work today nor the next. What the hell? One whole week out! How’d I catch this? No one knows, but doc gives me some antibiotic horse pills and sends me on my way.

So, it’s back home for sleep. And more sleep. Turns out I’ve gotten my roommate sick, and he’s holed up in his room, too. Occasionally we wander past each other in the hall way. It’s like The Night of the Living Dead, minus the eating of human flesh and whatnot (at least as far as I know).

It’s been about six days, and my room’s become a prison. The antibiotics are kicking in, but not fast enough. My room smells like sick person. I’ve been existing on only water, orange juice, and a couple bowls of cereal for a week. And occasionally everything floats. It’s a mess. I’m out a week of work, woozy, and I don’t think I remember how to talk anymore. The road to recovery is just beginning…