Forget bedroom or Betty Gable eyes. These days I'm sporting not-so-chic Bride of Frankenstein peepers. I'm talking pink eye, that electric-red, radiating-line, scary-to-small-children look.
While the windows to my soul should be shuttered to anyone but the Undead, the rest of me is equally shudder-inducing: Lungs are crackling, cough is hacking, voice is breaking, joints are aching, head is swimming, sight is dimming. I sound as bad as I feel.
Feeling sick is bad enough when the weather is unpleasant, but I hate that I've missed some of the nicest days this week as I lay abed. Had I actually succeeded in dozing off, I might be better by now. But the bloody birds in the trees, the thundering bass blasting from car radios, the sometimes simultaneously screeching ambulance, police, and fire sirens, human and feline voices, and that blasted, rinky-dink tune from the ice cream truck all float up from the street and straight into my congested earways.
Except for some interpreting assignments and visits to the doctor and pharmacy, I've been staying home, a shut in. I know I'm in bad shape when I don't have the desire to dance or zumba and when I am not all that interested in food. So what, exactly, have I been doing when not trying to sleep? I've squinted my way through four or five books, solved umpteen crossword puzzles, Facebooked way too much, practically Carpal-tunneled myself playing Solitaire. Sometimes I'm too tired to get up to get whatever it was I forgot the last time I got up to get it.
If only my Mother were still alive to dose me with chicken soup (a.k.a. Jewish penicillin), to soothe my aching brow, and to worry me well again! Oh, well. One can only dream -- if only one could sleep. However, now that I am fully eye dropped, antibioticized, cough suppressed, doped up with vitamin D, and sated with C, maybe I'll be able to catch some ZZZ's. I'm hoping to get back to the rhythms of life in the blink of a normal eye.