I’ve come to the realization that I rarely get sick. I’ve been under the weather plenty of times, but that always passes within 24-48 hours. I honestly can’t remember the last time I felt this shit-tastic.
As I boarded my plane to haul my ass back to New York last night [Motrin AND Vicodin in tow], my eye started to feel funny. It kindasorta felt like there was something in it. It also kindasorta felt really sore. After reading some Fifty Shades [duh], I laid down. Luckily, I had an entire row to myself [and I’m very short], so I was able to actually get entirely horizontal on the plane. That is a HUGE win for sick travel.
I slept for about an hour [thanks, Vicodin] and awoke to find that I could not open my eyes. To add insult to injury, in addition to my cold, I now also have pinkeye. PINKEYE. I’ve never had it before in my whole entire life. I even worked at a preschool for a good bit of time and I never contracted pinkeye.
If you’ve never had pinkeye [like me, 24 hours ago], let me just tell you: it is DISGUSTING. I’ll leave the details to your own imagination/google image search.
Anyway, I made an appointment with my doctor this morning, assuming that I could just get myself some antibiotics and be non-contagious and gunk-free within 24 hours.
Between the cold and the gunk, I was in no mood to look nice while hauling my ass uptown. I threw on: gigantically oversized Victoria’s Secret pink sweatpants with the words “LovePink” across the butt, a graphic tee from Urban Outfitters circa 2005, my running shoes, and white sunglasses. No, I did not shower. I looked like a vision, let me tell you.
I strolled down the street, annoyed that my doctor hadn’t agreed to just give me a prescription over the phone. I passed a group of men disembarking the M14 bus and one of them whispered “Sexy!” in my ear as I passed him.
Now. In the movie version of my life, this is where we would cut to the Ally McBeal fantasy sequence, wherein the following happens. I RIP the sunglasses off of my face. My body suddenly looks like a female Wolverine. The color of my pink eye has gone from baby pink to fire engine red. I scream, with my eyes bulging, “OH YEAH!? YOU THINK THIIIISSSS IS SEXY!?!” And then I rub my nasty, crusty pink eye all over the cat-caller.
He then cowers on the sidewalk, begging my forgiveness, “No, no! It’s not sexy! I’m sorry! I will never disrespect any woman ever again! I will endure this nasty pinkeye as my punishment. I know I deserve it!”
Cat-calling makes me uncomfortable and gives me a lot of rage [in case that wasn’t obvious]. This guy is LUCKY that my life is not a movie. Yet.
Anyway, the doctor informed me that I have VIRAL pinkeye not BACTERIAL pinkeye, which basically means that my cold just decided to manifest itself in my eye [and thankfully, it is not from this unmentionable source]. Consequently, I can’t take antibiotics but I am STILL contagious. Oh joy.
In related sick-y news, I bought these Kleenex Cool Touch tissues today. I’m POSITIVE that they are NOT organic [like I promised to be] and are probably transporting cancer directly to my brain, BUT THEY ARE AMAZING. LIKE SERIOUSLY. They are COLD when you pull them out of the dispenser! How do they do that?! How many chemicals are in there? I’m just going to use my two boxes and THEN switch to all organic tissues. I swear.