Tuesday, February 01, 2011

"Plague, plague!"

The Colonel's friendly neighborhood pharmacist tells him that there is no such thing as a "touch of the flu." Far be it from the Colonel to disagree. The Colonel won't go so far as to honor the bug that took up residence in his respiratory system with the title, influenza. And, while he has felt a whole lot better than he felt the past several days, he certainly has felt a lot worse.

For example, there was that time that he caught "the crud" on that big ugly gray floating prison the Navy euphemistically refers to as an amphibious ship. The Colonel was so sick that he was afraid he was going to die. And then, it got worse, and the Colonel was afraid he wouldn't die.

The Colonel has ingested enough pharmaceuticals over the past 96 hours to put down a horse. He's not sure whether the dream he had yesterday about a dragon and a woefully ineffective fire extinguisher should be notched up to the effects of fever or drugs.

Don't know if the hoarseness the Colonel is experiencing is from the coughing or from the requirement his family has placed on him to precede his entrance into any room with loud announcements of "Plague...plague!"

The really great part of all of this pestilence is the recovery period, replete with technicolor expectoration and delirium tremens as the Colonel's body withdraws from the drugs.

So, the Colonel has that to look forward to...which is nice.
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