Filed under: This Is Pointless | Tags: Anne Rice, Elizabeth Kostova, health, illness, Interview With The Vampire, signs, The Historian, vampires
It has come to my attention that reading books about vampires makes me sick. Literally. My sinuses are all stuffed up, my head hurts, I’m so terribly sleepy, and I sound like I’ve been smoking since the beginning of time. And this is only Day One of the illness.
Why vampire stories? I tried to be logical and reason it out through other means, but now I’m left to this one theory. A couple summers ago, my sister suggested that I read The Historian by Elizabeth Kostova. I got less than 30 pages into it before my throat ached something fierce. So I set it down, thought nothing of it and went to bed early. That sore throat was the beginning of a two week long head cold. Fever, chills, body aches, drowsiness, puking. Later that same summer I picked up the book again, read a little more and soon came down with a lesser, though still undesirable, cold.
Two days ago I started reading Interview With The Vampire. Halfway through work yesterday I began feeling all sorts of terrible, and surprise surprise, I wake up this morning to a head full of snot.
I think this is the universe’s way of telling me something but I have no idea what. Any guesses? I will not let bounded pages get the best of me.
Oh Buffy, where are youuuu?
Dacoda.
Apparently in the culinary realm, Americans are going through a prolonged phase of ‘bacon mania.’ That’s an actual term. Some cite that the allure of bacon is because in our diet-of-the-moment society, bacon is the bad boy with the leather jacket and big ass Harley who’s waiting for us underneath our bedroom windows late at night, while the sweet and darling Lettuce boy next door is offering his help on your calculus homework and rubbing elbows with your parents before he asks you to the prom. We want to be healthy and nice and give the lettuce a chance, but give us a strip of that wonderful 75% fat, 25% meat greasy bacon and we simply can’t resist. We’ll even cheat. Thanks to bacon bits, we can have the best of both worlds.
America loves bacon, and oh does bacon love America. The formerly reserved for breakfast food item has been pushing its boundaries and popping up wherever we’re willing to give it a shot, including…
1. Bacon Peanut Brittle
2. Bacon Macadamia Cinnamon Rolls
3. Bananas Wrapped In Bacon
4. Bacon And Cranberry Pinwheels
5. French Toast And Bacon Cupcakes
6. Bacon Ice Cream with Chocolate-Covered Bacon
7. Bacon Chocolate Chip Cookies
and my personal favorite 8. Bacon Apple Pie
sources: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight.
Mmm, bacon :3
Dacoda.
Or at least, I hate going to them. And I don’t go unless I absolutely need to. Like verge of death status. I don’t like the nerve-wracking-ness of the waiting room. Or the essential weighing before seeing the doctor, especially when you try to make it a point to never weigh yourself in order to be a little happier and content. And then you wait and wait and wait. Sitting on a paper covered seat and reading everything you can see in the exam room while you wait for the doctor to ask you awkward questions, poke and prod you, run tests, and tell you it’s either something tiny and here’s a prescription for some antibiotics, or tell you that it’s amazing you’re not dead yet.
I need to see a doctor. But I probably won’t. I’ve had a sore throat for two weeks. No other symptoms. It could very likely be strep, but the hypochondriac in me is screaming throat cancer. I take 6+ ibuprofen a day so I won’t notice it and try not to think about it. I haven’t taken anything in three days, and I want to rip my throat out and feed it to something that deserves to die from throat uckies. It hurts. A shit ton. Even eating delicious cheesecake wouldn’t be worth the pain.
I’m hoping it’ll turn out like my back thing. Over a year and a half ago, I somehow fucked up my back terribly. I couldn’t breathe, move any part of my body, or actually even lay still, without it hurting. And of course I never went to a chiropractor or anything. And now my back always, always aches. It’s in the back of my mind, but I’m always conscious of it. I definitely think my quality of life would significantly improve if I got it checked out and had my back whipped into shape. But I hate doctors. So it’ll probably never happen.
Maybe, just maybe, I’ll get over my throat thing enough to be able to live with it and accept it as being normal.
Or maybe in a couple years I’ll just get tired of it all and rip out my spine and throat and make a really nice modern art piece.
Dacoda.
