Well shizzle my shizzlers, if I didn’t have the mother of all melt-downs this morning.
I woke up.
Sat up in bed.
So far. So good.
Then came the vague sensation of ‘tightness’ across my chest.
Errrr, not loving that.
Then simultaneously, I sneezed and coughed.
Squealing, I leapt out of bed whereupon I promptly forgot the motivation behind the leaping as I don’t have a cough medicine, paracetamol or indeed, a thermometer.
You’d think I’d be better prepared.
I did buy some paracetamol last week but used it all up in the aftermath of some particularly fine four-pound-ninety-nine Merlot from Sainsbury’s.
Red wine hangovers.
Am I right?
So, with purposeful action to confirm my suspicions rendered impossible, I hopped helplessly from foot to foot for a couple of minutes and then, sarcastic, hard-arse that I am, burst into tears.
The media should really be proud of itself.
Their relentless, myopic, obsession with death has resulted in the utterly uninvited subconscious belief that if The-Virus manages to gnaw its way into your life, there’s a good chance the next thing you’ll see is the inside of a bubble at The Nightingale.
I frantically started putting together my ‘Burn Pile’ (you know, the stuff you never, ever want anyone to see in case anything happens to you), I chugged coffee, I paced, I sneezed, I coughed, I paced some more and I was halfway through a letter to my family apologising for my many shortcomings and transgressions when a thought occurred to me.
Well, two thoughts actually.
The first was that my ink cartridge had run out so photocopying was out of the question meaning, if I was going to cover off every member of my family that I’ve transgressed or shortcomed, I’d have to hand write at least forty of these press releases.
The second thought was the one that stopped me in my tracks.
I sat out in the garden most of yesterday watching Youtube videos of thirty million dollar Hollywood mansion tours.
I live next to a wood that’s plump with ripening, tree buds.
I’ve got hay-fever.
I always get a bit asthma-ish when I have hay-fever.
Oh thank you God.
Oh thank you pollen.
Oh hippy-skippy, I am healed.
What a shitty time for hay-fever to enter stage left, with a population that are already at DEFCON-2 in terms of sensitivity to the belief that ‘mild flu-like symptoms’ are a sign of imminent ICU admission.
But now I have another problem.
Much as I love them because, well, I’m a big fan of anything that gets me a bit high, should I actually go ahead and take antihistamines?
Not that I’m prepared with any supplies of course but, were I to procure some, is taking a drug that will suppress my immune response a helpful activity right now?
What to do………..
What to do………..
Whatever shall I do?