Suffering and Death

I think I just ran a red light. I was driving along in the stupor of a death-inducing chest cold and when I looked in my rearview mirror I noticed a red light behind me. Maybe it was green my direction but I honestly don’t remember looking at it.

Then I pulled into the pharmacy drive-through and sat there for a few minutes staring at the window before I finally realized I had to press the call button to alert them that I was waiting. I was picking up cough syrup. Stinkin’ lousy cough syrup. That’s all they would give me at the clinic. I was hoping for morphine or a throat and lung amputation. But cough syrup!

I get so peeved when I go to the doctor and they say that I just have the same old virus that everyone else has, no big deal. If everyone else has what I have, then the pandemic must be here because I don’t care what they say, I can’t have more than 10 or 15 minutes to live.

I feel like I’ve caught everything this winter, 2 chest colds, sinus infections, stomach flu, a menacing hangnail and split ends. My dentist even suggested recently that I need to go to “tongue rehab.”

As I sat in the pharmacy parking lot waiting for my stinkin’ cough syrup to have the sticker stuck on it, I watched a pair of mummified senior old people inching their way to their parked car. They were walking directly towards a yellow Camaro and I was hoping against hope that it was theirs. Sadly they climbed into the burgundy Oldsmobile beside it. It would have cheered me greatly if theirs was the sports car and I really needed some cheering right about then.

At this point in my sickness I’m half-waiting for some bearded figure to pop up on Al Jazeera and claim responsibility for a biological warfare attack on the Seattle suburbs. Whatever they used, it’s working. I surrender.

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