Starting on Sunday I got knocked on my ass by a wicked chest cold. Usually my illness follows the same pattern: scratchy throat, post nasal drip (yuck, sorry), then after a night of (not great) sleep I wake up and BOOM! I'm congested and drippy and gross. After a few days of marveling at my body's infinite capacity for producing mucus (again, yuck, sorry), I feel the cold move its way into my lungs. I end up with a hacking cough and daily asthma attacks until I can get enough rest and vitamin C for the cold to make its way back out of my breathing tubes.
Weirdly, this time I got almost none of the head congestion; just a feeling of being tired, headachy and scratchy-throated on Sunday, which I perhaps wrongly attributed to dehydration caused by excessive drinking and snacking (see my last post). And then on Monday I woke up with a killer headache and a cough that got worse and worse as the day progressed. Suffice it to say that on Tuesday I called in sick and didn't even work from home - a first for me in this job. On Wednesday, although I felt less tired, my asthma and coughing were so bad that I had to work from home AND use my nebulizer (the asthmatic's secret weapon, an intense vapor delivery of albuterol for twenty frigging minutes per dose, which leaves me with a racing heart, numb hands, and a cold, achy body) twice.
So, you ask, where are the things to feel good about? I'm getting to them. I know. I'm long-winded. Here goes:
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Sunday, March 27, 2011
A is for Alcohol
In the throes of serious heartburn, I have decided to issue a moratorium on alcohol consumption for the workweek ahead. This moratorium is, of course, only applicable to me. I have to say that I feel some slight sense of admiration for those people stoic or stubborn enough to withstand daily drinking for longer than the span of a holiday weekend. Clearly I am not one of those people.
Living in Austin, being as yet still in my twenties, and enjoying close proximity to downtown, I felt more than usual in the spirit of St. Patrick's Day this year. I didn't go out to bars - it was, after all, a Thursday, and just seeing the crowds of green-clad tourists clustered around 6th street made me hurry home after work - but I bought some Guinness, as well as a small bottle of Bailey's Irish Cream, for a cupcake recipe. Of course, the cupcakes only required a half cup of the stout, so I was able to freely enjoy the rest of it in unadulterated form. And I did.
Just as I enjoyed the Dos Equis and scotch-and-Diet Coke at Maggie Mae's during the free Aussie BBQ showcase, the cocktails at the Driskill, the additional beers at the Swan Dive, the Spring Folly variety pack of New Belgium ales that I bought when my cousin arrived in town, the Budweiser 55 calorie beer she bought, and this past weekend's Abita beer binge thanks to a friend's housewarming party.
Obviously, if it is there, I will drink it. To my discomfort.
Living in Austin, being as yet still in my twenties, and enjoying close proximity to downtown, I felt more than usual in the spirit of St. Patrick's Day this year. I didn't go out to bars - it was, after all, a Thursday, and just seeing the crowds of green-clad tourists clustered around 6th street made me hurry home after work - but I bought some Guinness, as well as a small bottle of Bailey's Irish Cream, for a cupcake recipe. Of course, the cupcakes only required a half cup of the stout, so I was able to freely enjoy the rest of it in unadulterated form. And I did.
Just as I enjoyed the Dos Equis and scotch-and-Diet Coke at Maggie Mae's during the free Aussie BBQ showcase, the cocktails at the Driskill, the additional beers at the Swan Dive, the Spring Folly variety pack of New Belgium ales that I bought when my cousin arrived in town, the Budweiser 55 calorie beer she bought, and this past weekend's Abita beer binge thanks to a friend's housewarming party.
Obviously, if it is there, I will drink it. To my discomfort.
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