Here’s the story of old age, small pox, heat and mucus.
I think it was whilst I was extracting the tenth piece of glass from my foot that I realized it was going to be a bad week. Indeed, that turned out to be true. Painfully true. My poor foot. It’s my own fault. I literally have no idea how powerful my index finger is. All I did was press the Enter Key on my laptop and then boom! The glass table shattered all around me. I was covered in glass. How powerful is my finger! Well, either that or the table is a pile of crap. I put it together, so it probably is crap. Needless to say, I spent a horrifying few hours screaming whilst waving my arms about in the air, running in circles. Not a great idea when you have a floor made of shards of glass.
Dad fixed my table. Always been a resourceful man. And thoughtful. Incredible really, when you consider how much glass he’s had to extract from his feet. Of course, I’ll simply chalk this whole incident off as another one of my many mishaps. I’m sure we’ll laugh about it one day. That may take a while, though.
Of course, despite father’s generosity, I caught something from him this week, making me incredibly ill. I think I’m dying. This is incredible, because I said at the start of this week, after ‘glass-gate’, that I’d be lucky to make it to my birthday because of the sheer large loss of blood. Which, of course, was an understandable overreaction. I then fall ill. Suspiciously so. It’s like crossing a busy road, nearly being hit by several cars, and then being whacked on the head with a spade. I did not see this coming. And I’m not best pleased.
I shan’t bore you with the details of my unwellness. You know, the nose that won’t stop running. The woefully sore throat. The inability to talk, which is ironic because I never say anything anyway. My eyes streaming. My right eye that won’t even open. My ears that are blocked. My coughing, getting worse by the minute. My back hurts. My kidney’s hurt. My hair is soaked with sweat. My throat is festooned with phlegm, causing me to choke and cough it up every five minutes resulting in tissues covered in a mixture of thick, oozing runny mucus and a spider’s web of phlegm that’s dripping in big, thick globules all over my lap. Not to mention the fact that northeast England is in the middle of a colossal super mega huge heat wave. Which is unpleasant when your body is falling to pieces. Even more unpleasant if you suffer from hayfever. Like I do. Sigh. As I said, I’m dying.
It’s my birthday this week. I have until Friday to clear all the off-licences within a 100-mile radius of their whisky and drink every single bottle I find. Whisky is a wonderful cold medicine. I highly recommend it. I say cold. Probably flu. Chest infection, more like. Let’s say typhoid. No, wait. Bird flu. Small pox. That’s what I have. Seriously. Not jesting. I genuinely have small pox. I haven’t been okay since I drink that funny milk. Must be small pox.
I hate being ill on my birthday. On five of my last seven birthdays, I haven’t been well. Last year I finally broke the trend. Now look at me. Trying desperately to stay conscious to write this. The heat is unbearable. Honestly, 25 degrees most days this week. It hit 32 on Friday. If you live in a hot country, you cannot grasp the hell I am in. And it’s my birthday soon. Sniff. Literally, sniff. This is my last post on this blog as a 22-year-old man, and the way I’m going, it’ll be the last ever. Do you want to know how pathetic my life has become this week? This morning, I sneezed on my toast. That’s right. And I still ate it.
I think about the future a lot. I think about how long I’ll live. Jeanne Calment was the oldest living human. Officially. 122 she died. If I lived to 122, I’d make it to the year 2100. Just think about that. I will be able to tell my great-grandchildren about a world before Google. Facebook. The Playstation. Mobile phones. A time when we played outside. When we rode our bikes and went for a swim in a lake with more dead hobos in it than we could count. But not me, obviously. I can’t swim or ride a bike. A time when we knew things. When we had books. When we used libraries. When we met up with friends at the park or at our favourite store. I could be one of the last humans alive who remembers a world before the Millennium Bug fiasco. My great-grandchildren will think I’m so old. And it makes me sad. When my generation is gone, generation is gone, there’ll be no one left who remembers a world before the information age. I’m not sure if there’s a point to all this, I’m just feeling morbid as I sit here dying, unable to see a computer screen I just coughed all over.
I think the point is that on days like these, the difficult days in life, are nothing but a tiny grain of sand in the hourglass of our existence. It’s important to see the big picture. To get out there in that big wide world. Not to retreat inside ourselves. Shy people like me spend so much time trying to make others not feel sorry for us. I think we have a greater message than that, though. There is a world beyond our front doors. A world that has a place for everyone. Shy people are largely incapable of experiencing that world. But you aren’t.
I, on the other hand, will lie here and continue my melodramatic dying sympathy vote grabbing simply exquisite performance, and gaze up at my ceiling fan. Spinning around and around. Until it sends me asleep. Because that’s just about the only time I’m not ailing. And I’ll pray desperately that I’m well enough to enjoy my special day this week.
Of course, don’t think I’m entirely reliant on prayer. I have booze, too. And if you feel like organizing a concert in aid of my suffering, please, feel free to do so. Or you could just send some flowers. Or a doctor. Actually, a doctor would probably be more useful.
So he we are. My last sentence on this blog as a 22-year-old. How should I end it? Erm. I don’t know. Stay safe crossing roads. Yeah, that’ll do…
American writer, Jarod Kintz (b. 1982), once said: “If the world were coming to an end tomorrow, I’d probably call in sick to work”.
Peace Out :|:
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To Contrive & Jive
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