Say what?

If I were Peter Gibbons, yesterday I would most certainly would have admitted that I had “a case of the Mondays”. I normally don’t go charging into my workweek with much dread or aggression, but yesterday was just not my day. Nothing profoundly awful happened, but it just didn’t sit right.

First of all, it was raining … again. And I’ve had enough. I take back what I said in my earlier post about loving rainy days. I used to love rainy days because they were an occasional, pleasant surprise that forced you indoors to relax. But when the weather forecast is repeatedly projected to be “More of the same!”, the gloominess tends to lose its charm and just become … gloomy. And needless to say, I still haven’t mastered the fine art of dressing myself; I thought flip flops were an obvious fashion choice with two inches of rain on the ground.

And then I couldn’t find a parking spot anywhere close to my office building. Since I work through the university, I am granted access to the ever-coveted C pass which means I can park pretty much anywhere in town with a campus parking lot. But apparently C passes aren’t quite as sacred as I thought because apparently everyone has one and everyone gets to work earlier than me (since I’m only part-time), thus taking all spots within quick walking distance. I totally don’t mind walking, but I do mind when it’s 40 degrees, raining, and I’m in rubber footwear (and the fact that the latter is completely my own fault only added to my irritation). And every single morning I play a stupid game of chance with myself, driving past all of the parking lots located directly outside my office, praying there will be at least one spot vacant. And every single time I’m wrong. So I end up being five minutes late to work because I have to backtrack to the lot two blocks away, park, and walk.

So I got to work wet and late, only to be greeted with about 50 emails from freelancers involving things that managed to go sour after I left the office on Friday afternoon, and they were so far removed from my consciousness after the weekend that I almost had no idea what they were talking about. But I eventually got my groove back and managed to get through my workday without crying.

But while I was working, I started to develop a dull headache at both of my temples. I even brushed my hands through my hair once or twice to see if I had sunglasses on my head because it felt like the exact same  pressure I get when I wear my shades (Reason being, I am a girl with a melon-sized head living in a world made for people with smaller-fruit-sized heads.) I borrowed from the community First-Aid kit, hoping a few aspirins would do the trick. It was right at that moment that I realized my right nostril was starting to feel congested.

Perfect. Perfect timing.

Not only do I have my bum knees to contend with, but I may or may not be coming down with a cold only 5 days away from the mini marathon. Needless to say, I went into panic mode. I politely requested to partake in some of the chamomile tea bags my co-worker has stored in his office, and immediately downed a cup of the hot beverage. The second after I got home from work, completely ignoring the already-late library books I needed to return, I got into a hot shower to steam away the dampness that had worked itself into my clothing on the trek back to my car. Afterwards, and this is awkward, I laid down on my side on the bathroom floor and poured a cap-full of hydrogen peroxide into my ear. I’d read an old wives' tale online that claimed hydrogen peroxide in the ear may keep you from getting a cold because it’s believed that cold viruses enter your body through your ears. Now, whether or not this is true is completely irrelevant because I needed something, anything to work. I switched sides and flooded my other ear. After almost going deaf and completely throwing off my equilibrium, I dizzily climbed over the living room couch to rest until Clayton got home.

The second Clay walked through the door, I sprang to my feet and said, “I need you to pour hydrogen peroxide into your ear so I can see if this works are not.”

Several minutes of heated discussion later, Clayton, annoyed, flopped himself onto the floor and grouchily waited for me to dump liquid into his brain. When the cold hydrogen peroxide hit his ear drum, he freaked out and started flailing. “Do you hear it bubbling in your ear?” I said, holding him down while I tried to press my ear to his and listen.

“What!?” he said.

“DO YOU HEAR ANY BUBBLING IN YOUR EAR?” I asked again, this time louder.

“Court, I can’t hear you over the bubbling in my ear. You’re going to have to speak up!” he said, raising his voice over the sound of fizzing in his ears.

Satisfied, I sat up. “Okay, just checking.”

As the wives' tale states, when you pour hydrogen peroxide into you ears, it will start bubbling if there’s some kind of bacteria or infection. When I gave myself an ear enema, it started bubbling like crazy, so I automatically assumed there was something wrong. That’s why I needed Clay to be my guinea pig. I just wanted to see if I was really that sick or if a little bubbling would happen to everyone because, let’s face it, our ears probably aren’t the cleanest part of our bodies.

Later that evening, Clay took me out to get some chamomile tea and zinc lozenges to help keep me as healthy as possible. Then we snuggled up on the couch and watched a movie before I excused myself to the bedroom to catch up on sleep and stay rested.

I feel mostly okay today. My nose isn’t stuffy at all and I don’t have the same bleh feeling, which is a good sign.

But I can’t really hear that well for some reason …


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