There are roughly 12 pounds of chocolate sitting on my kitchen table right now and I’m not eating any of it.
It’s not that I somehow found some supreme willpower in my head or my heart or wherever that’s kept. No, no. I physically cannot eat it.
The Easter Bunny is always particularly good to my sister and I. I think it’s because we live near two fantastic chocolatiers and rarely eat store chocolate. Except Reese’s eggs. I will eat the shit out of some Reese’s eggs.
I used to always get a lot of weird religious imagery in my chocolates. I don’t think I have any this year. I do have a chocolate-covered glazed pineapple ring that I’m not sure what to do with, though. This may be the first time I don’t have a chocolate Jesus. I was always really conflicted about how to eat them. Feet first? Head first? My old youth pastor told me the best way to eat a chocolate Jesus was with some grape juice. I liked that guy. Shame he went off the deep end, but that’s a different story.
Fast forward to Easter night. My sister and my cousins decided to go get dinner somewhere because I’m not entirely comfortable with celebrating the resurrection of a Jewish rabbi by eating ham (for the fifth time that weekend) and we were hungry. Mid-meal, my sister and I both got a really terrible sinus…thing that made us all wibbly wobbly. I know what this is. I get a sinusthing right before I get really, really sick. It happens every time.
Monday: Sore throat. Nothing bad.
Tuesday: SUPER sore throat. Around 10:00 that night, I was captioning some generic movie and all of a sudden started sweating. My head started pounding. I started shivering. I tried to get up to go to the bathroom and get a drink, but every muscle in my body was aching and I could hardly get out of my chair. Around 10:15, my sister texted me to say she was sick, sweaty, shivering, and achey. Oh boy!
When I finally got home, I basically laid in bed, shivering and sweating for hours. I slept for maybe 20 minutes.
Or so I thought, really.
Melina and I went to MedExpress as soon as it opened. They saw her first, then me. Both of us had rapid strep tests. Hers came up positive. Mine was negative.
I asked if it could be the flu and the nurse told me it was possible, but there haven’t been many flu cases around here lately, so she’s not sure. It could also be that I really do have strep. It could also-also be that my mono is relapsing because, as we all remember, I was not given the chance to recover from it in November.
So here I am. With Streptoflucleosis. Can’t eat my cashew meltaway eggs because I can’t swallow a damn thing. I’ve been sitting in a recliner for two days now, watching Lost, Jem, and everything ever on Food Network and trying to convince myself that I’m not really dying.
My doctor’s note is only for yesterday and today, but I was told not to go back to work until my temperature is down without taking any acetaminophen. We’re currently sitting pretty at 101.7 degrees, down from 102.4. I don’t think it’s going to be happening tomorrow.
I’m working on the next cult story. Promise. I can’t decide whether to tell things chronologically or just tell my favorite stories. There are just so many of them. I’m open to suggestions.
(By the way, if you didn’t get it, there’s a documentary called “Fat, Sick, and Nearly Dead.” It’s on Netflix. I don’t buy 95% of the stuff they talk about, but it’s interesting at the least.)