Indiana weather is interesting to say the least. It is more random than a three-year-old hopped up on pixie sticks. It vacillates more than a politician running for office. It is always arbitrary and often vengeful. I hate it.
In this last few weeks since Christmas, (has it only been a few weeks?!), we have experienced a "blizzard," (I'll get back to that), rain, sleet, fog, below zero and above 60 degree weather. WHAT?
Let me start with the "blizzard." I'm from upstate New York. When I hear the word blizzard, I automatically start thinking of snow- kind of a foundation for a blizzard, wouldn't you say? Snow in copious, massive, staggering amounts- amounts that can only be measured with a yard stick- or several yard sticks. I think of power lines coming down, sheds bowling over, roofs caving in, trees falling, fences collapsing; in short, I think of all sorts of disasters resulting from the monumental weight of all that snow. (I also think of warm fires, thick, fuzzy blankets, and cocoa, but that's beside the point.)
Instead, what we got was four lousy inches. Four measly little, insignificant inches of snow. A smattering, yes. A coating, sure. A dusting, by all means. A mere four inches does NOT a blizzard make, folks. True, there were strong winds blowing the snow here, there, and everywhere. That's called a white out. (Not to be confused with the handy-dandy office implement that assists in concealing errors, as it is neither handy, nor dandy, and causes, rather than conceals errors.) What we had was, "Some snow with white-out conditions." NOT a blizzard. (This particular 'Weather Event' was very nearly as disappointing as the Non-Apocalypse.)
After the "Blizzard that Wasn't," temperatures stayed as near to zero as they could possibly manage. I stepped outside and felt my eyelashes instantly freeze. My breath crystallized on the air and shattered to the ground like broken glass. I was wrapped up like a mummy: coat, hat, boots, scarf, gloves, and doing my best impression of the kid on "A Christmas Story," who can't put his arms down. Conditions were NOT cozy.
And then came the thaw. Oh, rapture! Oh, what heavenly joy! Winter is already over! I was rejoicing; ecstatic. Somehow I had managed to survive yet another winter! And this one had seemed so much shorter than the last…
And then I consulted the calendar. It was only the first week in January.
Bummer.
Alas, the cold returned again- though only for a few short days, followed by another thaw, this one even better than the first. This I could get used to. Temperatures reached 69 degrees over the span of several days. I thought somehow I had fallen asleep and awoken in Florida. I was a slightly under-aged Snowbird. Yay, me!!
Of course, there is the whole Ying and Yang to contend with. With the good, always comes the bad. The bad in this case being various and sundry colds which had been running rampant thanks to the fluctuating temperatures, and also- duh-duh-duuuuhhh- The Flu. (For which, I might add, because this becomes very important later on- my new job was offering vaccinations. Free of charge.)
Personally, I think the label 'the flu' is far too innocuous. Even 'influenza' doesn't come nearly close enough to describing the ailment. In actuality we should call it: 'The macabre dance of death performed by maniacal microorganism type beasties playing kettle drums inside your head and stomping on all your nerve endings with spiked cleats, whilst lighting roaring fires inside all of your cells.' But I suppose that name is too long and so we have coined it the 'flu.'
Naturally, I managed to get 'The Flu.' But we'll get to that later. Let's start with the cold: a petty, but annoying malady which lulls you into a false sense of security that being sick isn't really all that bad.
It started over Christmas. I was feeling rather victorious as I was still managing to balance everything- writing, my new job, the bakery, and all the extra work a holiday entails. Okay, so maybe I was spreading just a little phlegm with my comfort and joy, but I was a champ! Nothing could stop me! "Ain't nothing gonna break my stride; nobody's gonna slow me down, oh no, I've got to keep on moving!" Men at Work had nothing on me!
Being the generous soul that I am, I gladly shared my malady with my husband. He was thrilled. But, it was only a cold. We would survive. (Bring on Gloria Gaynor.)
And then the cold took a vicious turn. The coughs and sniffles became a tad more insistent. Before long we were both losing brain cells at an alarming rate to our Puffs Plus with lotion and the coughs had turned from pesky annoyances into those whole-body wracking coughs- the kind of cough that starts at your toes and forces you into a fetal position, while your chest contracts and your throat screams, and all the while you are certain this will be your last breath. Talking is not an option; breathing a rare treat.
My husband was on vacation (a vacation I ruined for him), but alas, I was still working and calling in sick was NOT an option. So my routine was: get up early, pop a handful of assorted meds, head off to work and attempt to function. I managed about fifty-percent capacity. Eight hours later I would head home, wrap up in a bathrobe and blankets and push fluids hardcore. (Needless to say, the bakery did not require my presence during this time. They had these supercilious concerns about my spreading germs inside their establishment- something about the health department frowning on that… Silly if you ask me. Whatever.)
And then, just as I thought I was shaking loose of this devilish delight, The Flu came along and knocked me on my proboscis. (I just like the sound of that- proboscis. It makes more sense that it knocked me on a much lower portion of my anatomy, but nose or not, proboscis is fun.)
Everything hurt. My hair hurt. My teeth hurt. My eyelashes hurt. The beasties were becoming more astute with their kettle-drumming and I was fairly certain I was dying. I considered calling in a hospice.
(Luckily, my husband didn't contract that portion of the disease, otherwise, "in sickness and in health," be damned; he might have filed for divorce citing germ warfare via the unwarranted attack of millions of microorganisms meant to kill, maim, and destroy. It might even have been considered an attempted murder. Hey, it's possible.)
If I find the schmuck that gave it to me, I definitely intend to sue. For now, I think I'll step outside and enjoy the weather.
Oh wait. It's thirty degrees again.
And snowing.
No worries; tomorrow it should be just fine for sunbathing.
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