Monday, November 20, 2006

One Flu Over The...

Slowly over the past few days I've moved back into the realm of the living. I spent all of Friday feeling as though I were being beaten for transgressions that I can only assume were severe, given the ferocity of the punishment they evoked. This was also coupled with a general intestinal, digestive mutiny in which many several systems that heretofore worked harmoniously each decided it was their turn to illustrate the myriad ways in which they could misbehave. My body became like Russia in the early 90s trying to control all these formerly obedient (well, submissive) provinces which all of a sudden decide at once to rebel and generally fuck things up. To avoid specifics, we'll just say my intestines were Chechneya and that the rebels were far more effective in their attacks than I'd have liked.

I can't quite recall the last time I felt as poorly as I did on Friday. I spent much of the day on the couch watching endless recountings of the glory of Bo Schembechler. Several things I learned about Bo Schembechler, 1) He went to Ohio State. Interesting, right. Adds a vaguely Shakespearean element to the battles between he and Woody. Or maybe it's more of a Euripedean element. Anyway, some element was added (Magnesium?). 2) Mitch Albom helped write Bo's autobiography (which I believe makes it a biography, but still). Albom of Tuesday's with Morrie Fame, and the 5 People you Meet When you Get to Stop Listening to Fucking Mitch Albom Eulegize a Damn Football Coach fame, was everywhere. Mitch Albom annoys me in a way that often defies explanation. That said, I'm going to try. Albom always strikes me as an author who is trying to write an entire essay using only the sappy ending lines from frilly hallmark cards interspered with parts of a Succesories poster. It's like he's writing using magenetic poetry built from those two genres. The it's the writing equivalent of cotton candy dipped into more cotton candy. It's shallow and substanceless, and largely about the miracle that comes from suggesting mass and volume. 3) I learned that Bo was a much better coach and probably person than Woody Hayes. Turns out Bo never punched opposing players. Hmm, I guess you could choose to conduct yourself like that. If you were a wuss. Geez, no sucker punching opposing players, no punching camera men, just because you're angry. It's like he was trying to set an example for his players. Loser.

After watching as much Schembechler eulogizing as is healthy for human consumption I... well honestly I don't really remember what I did. Suffice to say I did very little of it, and it was slow and unpleasant. To add to the fun of Friday Jesseca's father was also sick. He had been visiting most of last week. So we had two very sick guys, who barely know one another trying to make conversation and share a single bathroom. I can assure the phrase a good time was had by all has rarely found a less applicable target.

Eventually around 6:00p Jess returned home. I believe at this time her father was sleeping and I was spread out on the floor. I could be wrong in this, I'm honestly not sure. It was a little later that Ann showed up. See we were going to play Settlers. Why you might ask were we going to play Settlers with the residents (and temporary resident) of the apartment in such bad shape? Because I'm a moron. So I lay on the floor and made low pitched, incoherent sounds, while Jess and Ann talked. Eventually after lots of drugs and many attempts to find a comfortable spot on the floor (our couch is entirely too short for me to lay comfortable) I started to make some sense. At least this is what I tell myself to give my recovery something of an arc. We then watched Coupling and I thankfully got to bed and fell asleep-- for real.

Saturday was better. I was feeling my oats, which meant I could eat food again. Not specifically oats, but the point remains. So we managed a game of Settlers. Her father winning under what I can only call very trying and sanity assailing circumstances. Then there was the OSU Michigan game. I pretend, at times, to care very little for my home state. And frankly, it's not really pretending, my home state interets me very little...except on OSU vs Michigan. Something about growing up in Central Ohio makes it impossible to ignore this game. It's everywhere at home. I know without question that 80% of the cars in the parking lots have either a) soaped windows or b) those annoying flags that you put in the window slots of SUVs. I'm sure the local groceries had special savings for The Game. And that's what you call it. There is no need to explain what it is. It is THE GAME. And this year, it really was The Game. There's a good chance that Saturday's game will be better and more descriptive of the best two teams in the country than whatever crap happens in January. Without a full recap: OSU wins, script Ohio continues to be cool, and the Leavy-Boyer household enjoyed the game.

The positive uptic in my health and mood was shortlived. Just after I started to bed the Chechen rebels and, let's say their allies mounted a second offensive. I made in the span of 4-5 hours 13 trips to the battlefield. Finally at 3:30am Jess heroically went to CVS and returned with more medication, ginger ale, pediasure, things like this. You know you are loved when you are sitting on the floor of your own bathroom, simply to reduce the commute and someone will leave their comfortable warm bed to drive into the night to bring back the provisions necessary to keep you from sinking even further into pitifulness. It was a touch and go moment with me regressing to the state of a 5 year old. It's good to be cared for, it's glorious to be loved.

I'm feeling better now, and while I'm still really tired and glad to be at home and not working today (I'd be no use, this writing has tired me out, to say nothing of having to deal with clients and focus groups, etc), I'm even happier to feel connected through illness and strife with Jess. It's a strange thing to find yourself loving someone more after spending many hours with them in a state where you are greasy, sick, incoherent and largely incapable of high brain function. But it's reassuring to know that if they can love you then, that you're pretty safe. Midway through Saturday evening, Jess started to feel a little sick and she's now become the sickly one. It's a chance to return the favor, and remind her of how loved she is.

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