Tuesday, January 18, 2005

NYQUIL DREAMS

Usually, you like living alone. You like your own space, and knowing that if you put leftover Chinese food in the fridge overnight that it will be there for you to take to work as lunch in the morning.

But when you’re sick, it’s a whole other story. And yesterday was bad. Not tsunami bad. But having-a-fever-and-living-alone kind of bad.

You long for a roommate to check in on you. You call your mother to tell her you’re sick even though she can’t do anything about it except worry and tell you to eat chicken soup. You end up calling your brother to ask him to run errands for you—even though he’s glad to help, you feel like you’re imposing.

You lie in bed, waiting for sleep. You drift in and out of consciousness and are unsure which state you prefer. You try to keep hydrated, but the bottle of water that’s in your bed starts to leak, gurgling softly until you notice the sound more than the fact that there’s a river running through your bed. Your bed needs dry-out time, so you move to the couch for movie-time. Dodgeball makes you laugh a few times, but you’re still uncomfortable.

You make your deadline, even though the column isn’t your most coherent. You try to watch TV from a reclined on your side in your newly-dry bed position, and discover that sideways Will and Grace makes you dizzy. Your brother arrives, toting the chicken soup, Gatorade and regular Coke that you asked for, in addition to a lovely bunch of tulips that you didn’t ask for, but that brightens up your wintry apartment and proves you were a good older sister.

You try vertical again, and the resultant head rush almost knocks you off your unsteady feet. You heat up the soup and eat it while you watch “Shaun of the Dead.” During a bathroom break, you look at yourself in the mirror and see a slack-jawed face, vacant eyes and your staggering walk, and your realize you’re not wholly unzombie-like yourself. You watch “Medium,” and wonder how anyone as normal seeming as Patricia Arquette tolerated the wacky antics of Nicolas Cage, and then you remember that she’s also related to David Arquette, which explains a lot.

You take the Nyquil, knowing that it will put you out of your misery. Your eyes droop, and you can’t even stay up to see Jon Stewart. And then, while you sleep, you float through a cherry red haze, and dream dreams that make no sense at all, like running into your old camp friends in a Target as they’re shopping for clothes to wear to the D.C. wedding of your first crush who’s already married, a rabbi, and working at Yeshiva University. And in the dream-within-a-dream, there are certainly zombies who play dodgeball.

The next day, things are better. Muscle aches still assertively present, but also duller and more tolerable. You begin to get back to normal. You go to work, and start reading the news on the Internet. You discover that certain drug companies are trying to restrict the sale of Nyquil because it can be used in manufacturing methamphetamines. You read more about Prince Harry and the swastika. You get one email letting you know that (yet) another friend had a baby and another email confirming an upcoming gig in Chicago…you wait for the rest of the chicken soup to thaw for lunch, and swallow it with a Tylenol chaser. You begin to set goals—write about Saturday night’s blogger bash, get started on one of your humongous freelance jobs, finish up old business with clients, pay your bills—everything that you were too foggy-headed to do yesterday.

This day is going to be better.

11 Comments:

At 3:13 PM, January 18, 2005, Blogger Denise said...

Living single when you're sick has to be one of the saddest things ever! You're there, feeling poopy, and there's no one to take care of you or fetch you things from the store when you have unreasonable cravings. I'm glad you're feeling better now. :)

 
At 3:32 PM, January 18, 2005, Blogger annabel lee said...

Glad you're starting to feel better. I feel your pain, hon. Sick + alone = no fun. How sweet of your brother to bring you tulips. I'm not surprised that you were an amazing big sister.

 
At 4:01 PM, January 18, 2005, Anonymous Anonymous said...

After I read your post Esther, I left you a voicemail offering to bring you some homemade chicken soup. Or anything else you might need. I remember being single and getting sick all too well. But I lived in the same city as my mother at the time, and she brought me soup, medicine and magazines.

Anytime, Esther, just let me know what you need. Keep on getting better!

Janice

 
At 4:13 PM, January 18, 2005, Blogger Esther Kustanowitz said...

Thanks all, esp. Janice. I'm doing much better today, but it's good to know you're all out there for me if I need you.

:)

 
At 4:36 PM, January 18, 2005, Blogger Lyss said...

Sometimes having a roommate isn't all its cracked up to be. My roommate is not good to have around while sick. He can border on nasty. Once, when I got the stomach flu, he practically accused me of getting it on purpose to ruin his weekend with his visiting parents (cause, ya know, I've got nothing better to do than sabotage their visit....).
Being a good Jew I noted that when he got the stomach flu on my brithday, thus ruining a trip to the MFA in Boston, I did not accuse him of puking on purpose.

Hope you're feeling better today.

 
At 6:30 PM, January 18, 2005, Blogger Anna said...

i'm so there with the calling the mother just because who else cares and the calling the brother because he lives in town and is obligated. i totally understand and here's to feeling better.

 
At 7:34 PM, January 18, 2005, Blogger Coelecanth said...

Sorry to hear you've been feeling poorly.

I prefer to suffer alone. I'm a cranky sicky and healthy people running around brings out the grouch. Riding it out alone with book and/or bad tv, punctuated with over-the-counter induced sleep is the only way to come through with my friendships intact.

Get well soon!

 
At 2:27 AM, January 19, 2005, Anonymous Anonymous said...

I think the events you write about happened to you. Yet you say it all happened to ME! I'M not sick! i DIDN'T take Nyquil. I don't get it.

 
At 10:36 AM, January 19, 2005, Blogger Esther Kustanowitz said...

Shh, Anonymous. It's okay. Yes, those things happened to me, not you. I didn't mean to confuse you...now go back inside and have some hot chocolate.

 
At 1:02 AM, January 20, 2005, Anonymous Anonymous said...

So then why did you do it? Why did you write like those things happened to ME? When they really happened to YOU!? I'm all. . .like. . .confused. I'd better not get sick. If I do it's your fault for writing about me.

 
At 11:00 PM, March 28, 2005, Anonymous Anonymous said...

Wow, you have issues. I think you need to seriously calm down about the NyQuil. Granted, it is a great over-the-counter drug that will knock you out in less than the time it takes to read the instructions on the bottle, but that is no reason to obsess! It will be okay! I know your lonely, but I mean, come on, you are just freaking out for no reason. NyQuil will continue to be sold whether you like it or not, and that is it. Goodbye, have a nice day. ByE.

 

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My Urban Kvetch: NYQUIL DREAMS

Tuesday, January 18, 2005

NYQUIL DREAMS

Usually, you like living alone. You like your own space, and knowing that if you put leftover Chinese food in the fridge overnight that it will be there for you to take to work as lunch in the morning.

But when you’re sick, it’s a whole other story. And yesterday was bad. Not tsunami bad. But having-a-fever-and-living-alone kind of bad.

You long for a roommate to check in on you. You call your mother to tell her you’re sick even though she can’t do anything about it except worry and tell you to eat chicken soup. You end up calling your brother to ask him to run errands for you—even though he’s glad to help, you feel like you’re imposing.

You lie in bed, waiting for sleep. You drift in and out of consciousness and are unsure which state you prefer. You try to keep hydrated, but the bottle of water that’s in your bed starts to leak, gurgling softly until you notice the sound more than the fact that there’s a river running through your bed. Your bed needs dry-out time, so you move to the couch for movie-time. Dodgeball makes you laugh a few times, but you’re still uncomfortable.

You make your deadline, even though the column isn’t your most coherent. You try to watch TV from a reclined on your side in your newly-dry bed position, and discover that sideways Will and Grace makes you dizzy. Your brother arrives, toting the chicken soup, Gatorade and regular Coke that you asked for, in addition to a lovely bunch of tulips that you didn’t ask for, but that brightens up your wintry apartment and proves you were a good older sister.

You try vertical again, and the resultant head rush almost knocks you off your unsteady feet. You heat up the soup and eat it while you watch “Shaun of the Dead.” During a bathroom break, you look at yourself in the mirror and see a slack-jawed face, vacant eyes and your staggering walk, and your realize you’re not wholly unzombie-like yourself. You watch “Medium,” and wonder how anyone as normal seeming as Patricia Arquette tolerated the wacky antics of Nicolas Cage, and then you remember that she’s also related to David Arquette, which explains a lot.

You take the Nyquil, knowing that it will put you out of your misery. Your eyes droop, and you can’t even stay up to see Jon Stewart. And then, while you sleep, you float through a cherry red haze, and dream dreams that make no sense at all, like running into your old camp friends in a Target as they’re shopping for clothes to wear to the D.C. wedding of your first crush who’s already married, a rabbi, and working at Yeshiva University. And in the dream-within-a-dream, there are certainly zombies who play dodgeball.

The next day, things are better. Muscle aches still assertively present, but also duller and more tolerable. You begin to get back to normal. You go to work, and start reading the news on the Internet. You discover that certain drug companies are trying to restrict the sale of Nyquil because it can be used in manufacturing methamphetamines. You read more about Prince Harry and the swastika. You get one email letting you know that (yet) another friend had a baby and another email confirming an upcoming gig in Chicago…you wait for the rest of the chicken soup to thaw for lunch, and swallow it with a Tylenol chaser. You begin to set goals—write about Saturday night’s blogger bash, get started on one of your humongous freelance jobs, finish up old business with clients, pay your bills—everything that you were too foggy-headed to do yesterday.

This day is going to be better.

11 Comments:

At 3:13 PM, January 18, 2005, Blogger Denise said...

Living single when you're sick has to be one of the saddest things ever! You're there, feeling poopy, and there's no one to take care of you or fetch you things from the store when you have unreasonable cravings. I'm glad you're feeling better now. :)

 
At 3:32 PM, January 18, 2005, Blogger annabel lee said...

Glad you're starting to feel better. I feel your pain, hon. Sick + alone = no fun. How sweet of your brother to bring you tulips. I'm not surprised that you were an amazing big sister.

 
At 4:01 PM, January 18, 2005, Anonymous Anonymous said...

After I read your post Esther, I left you a voicemail offering to bring you some homemade chicken soup. Or anything else you might need. I remember being single and getting sick all too well. But I lived in the same city as my mother at the time, and she brought me soup, medicine and magazines.

Anytime, Esther, just let me know what you need. Keep on getting better!

Janice

 
At 4:13 PM, January 18, 2005, Blogger Esther Kustanowitz said...

Thanks all, esp. Janice. I'm doing much better today, but it's good to know you're all out there for me if I need you.

:)

 
At 4:36 PM, January 18, 2005, Blogger Lyss said...

Sometimes having a roommate isn't all its cracked up to be. My roommate is not good to have around while sick. He can border on nasty. Once, when I got the stomach flu, he practically accused me of getting it on purpose to ruin his weekend with his visiting parents (cause, ya know, I've got nothing better to do than sabotage their visit....).
Being a good Jew I noted that when he got the stomach flu on my brithday, thus ruining a trip to the MFA in Boston, I did not accuse him of puking on purpose.

Hope you're feeling better today.

 
At 6:30 PM, January 18, 2005, Blogger Anna said...

i'm so there with the calling the mother just because who else cares and the calling the brother because he lives in town and is obligated. i totally understand and here's to feeling better.

 
At 7:34 PM, January 18, 2005, Blogger Coelecanth said...

Sorry to hear you've been feeling poorly.

I prefer to suffer alone. I'm a cranky sicky and healthy people running around brings out the grouch. Riding it out alone with book and/or bad tv, punctuated with over-the-counter induced sleep is the only way to come through with my friendships intact.

Get well soon!

 
At 2:27 AM, January 19, 2005, Anonymous Anonymous said...

I think the events you write about happened to you. Yet you say it all happened to ME! I'M not sick! i DIDN'T take Nyquil. I don't get it.

 
At 10:36 AM, January 19, 2005, Blogger Esther Kustanowitz said...

Shh, Anonymous. It's okay. Yes, those things happened to me, not you. I didn't mean to confuse you...now go back inside and have some hot chocolate.

 
At 1:02 AM, January 20, 2005, Anonymous Anonymous said...

So then why did you do it? Why did you write like those things happened to ME? When they really happened to YOU!? I'm all. . .like. . .confused. I'd better not get sick. If I do it's your fault for writing about me.

 
At 11:00 PM, March 28, 2005, Anonymous Anonymous said...

Wow, you have issues. I think you need to seriously calm down about the NyQuil. Granted, it is a great over-the-counter drug that will knock you out in less than the time it takes to read the instructions on the bottle, but that is no reason to obsess! It will be okay! I know your lonely, but I mean, come on, you are just freaking out for no reason. NyQuil will continue to be sold whether you like it or not, and that is it. Goodbye, have a nice day. ByE.

 

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