It Never Rains in Southern California or Why Tony! Toni! Tone! can bite me.
It is still winter in Southern California and the rain keeps coming. This is an appropriate metaphor for my life. They say when it rains it pours. In my world, when it rains, it monsoons.
So that this post isn't an entire bitch and rant session let me lead with a few positives. I was fortunate enough last week to travel to Texas with some buddies on a corporate gig. Simply because of the travel times, smoking laws, and an oddly timed fire alarm going off at our hotel, I found myself not smoking for two full days. I realized that if I could go another day without smoking that my body would be over the nicotine withdrawal. I only had two cigarettes so I crushed them in my hands and went for it. I have now gone twelve smoke free days. I figure that not smoking will make my breath sweeter; my breathing easier; and will save me roughly $350.00 a year.
Now for the bitching. My first week of being smoke free was trying because I became a major crank. I was irritable all the time. My irritability was further complicated by my unexplained insomnia, a mass shooting at my grad school Alma mater, and my monthly full moon hornies.
It was in grad school that I first noticed that I get extremely horny about a 7-8 days before the full moon. It sort of takes over me. I just become base and excited all the time. I awake with enough wood to build an ark and I'm like one raging hormone.
MTG, the guy that I have been pining over for the last two months, didn't give me the time of day. Too bad 'cause as horny as I was, I would have rocked his world.
So, with the combination of not smoking, grief over the shooting, and the full moon hornies I was in quite the emotional state last week. It all culminated in me getting the flu. Oh yeah, this story just gets better and better. It started with a nasty cough and a sore throat. After I became severely congested, I noticed my lymph nodes felt like they were the size of golf balls. Then came the aches and pains followed by fever and headaches.
I am a man. And like most men, when I am ill I quickly revert to childhood. I become a little boy that just wants someone to take care of him. You don't have to do my laundry (although that would be great) but I would appreciate someone rubbing my head with a cool towel; feeding me liquids and chocolate ice cream (goat milk ice cream, since I am lactose intolerant); and reading me a story (it's okay if the story is from Entertainment Weekly).
When you are single, forget about it. There is no rubbing, feeding, or reading. It's just you, a box of Theraflu, and the ladies of The View.
Monday was a holiday and my flu symptoms were still fairly mild. As a matter of fact, I wasn't even sure I was sick. I was just very emotional. I couldn't stop crying. I even called my Mom to cry (I told you men become little boys when they are ill). Monday night was when the flu hit me full on. I went to bed at 9 pm feeling shitty.
Tuesday morning around 4 or 5 am, I felt soooooo awful. I couldn't decide if I should phone in sick or go to work. I was unemployed for three months and I was terrified about not making money. I already missed a day because of the holiday. I ended up phoning in sick because I honestly couldn't get out of bed. It was awful. My long term temp assignment for the life coach/motivational speaker/phony asshole was now in it's sixth week. He would understand if I took one day off to get better.
Wednesday morning, my fever broke (temporarily) around 5 or 6 am. I decided to spend one more day at home. Life coach/motivational speaker/phony asshole wouldn't like it but it was better than coming back too soon and making others ill. Right? Wrong. Life coach/motivational speaker/phony asshole decided that my services were no longer needed. This bastion of virtue fired me while I was in my weakest state. Nice guy, huh? To make up for it, my temp agency found me a one day assignment next week. One day?!? That won't pay the rent. I peeled myself off the couch and went back to my room for a nap. I was exhausted and annoyed.
When I awoke from my nap I was surprised to find myself LOCKED IN MY ROOM. My doorknob would not turn. My roommate was not home. I was trapped in my room. I was living in a Dali dream. I wanted to wake up. I wanted to wake up and not be ill. I wanted to wake up and have my job back. I wanted MTG, the man I have been dreaming about for the last two months, to be by my side smiling at me with a tray of bacon and french toast. I wasn't dreaming. I really was unemployed, lonely, ill, and trapped in my own bedroom.
I grabbed a screwdriver and was able to escape from my prison (A prison with 800 thread count sheets - just trying to find another positive). I napped the rest of the day on the couch.
The last two days I spent recovering my voice; nursing my still tender glands; ferociously job hunting; and begging relatives for rent money. Big ups to Patchy Scarback. Without asking, he paid my cell phone bill after he found out that I lost my job.
I know this sounds like an awful lot of stuff to happen in one week but it did. I don't feel destroyed by it either. I feel emboldened. Last year taught me that I am much stronger than I think. And for some strange reason, I still Love LA.