Son of The Cold That Wouldn't Die

I was going to blog a week or so ago about THE COLD THAT WOULDN'T DIE (insert your own '50s-era theremin sci-fi music here), but things got hectic and now I'm already on to the sequel.

Because, goddammit, we've been sick in this house for about 4 fucking weeks, and I'm pretty tired of it all.

First, it was The Rozzle who brought croup home from daycare…you know, that place you take your child, and she catches stuff from kids who ought to damn well be kept home, but their parents *apparently* don't have any other options, so they send 'em sick as hell? Yeah. THAT place. Croup is just a virus, and in adults it usually results in nothing more annoying than a cold…which we both promptly got, with accompanying fevers and general malaise. Roz got better, but Tess & I kept up this whole coughing…THING, you know, that for me resulted in bringing up loads of thick green goo from my lungs and upper breathing apparatus. (Mmmm…I could go for some GUACAMOLE right about now!) We were really shaking it in the clean crisp air of Copper Harbor, but now a week later we're both back at it, only this time it's a less productive cough, accompanied by a dry tickle in the back of the throat that no amount of Hall's will satiate. *sigh* Plus, now Roz has been seeping a whitish goo from the corners of her eyes (Guacamole! With a side of hollandaise sauce!), and even though she's not picking or rubbing at them, I decided it was damn well time to go to the doctor.

He immediately confirmed conjuncivitis in her, then took one listen to the two of us hacking and (bless him!) said "I know exactly what's wrong with you, too, and I can prescribe Z-pacs for you both as long as you're here." Bring it. You bring that shit, Doc! He said it was "grixozyprenmumbojumbo pneumonia," which sounds alarming because of that last word, but is really just a bacterial infection. Whatevs. I got me my drugs, and I take a hefty mixture of warmed honey, lemon juice, and Southern Comfort right before bed, and within a day or two I should be ready to roll.

Which is good, because summer colds SUCK anyway, and I'm goin' on the middle of June with nary a really good day since school got out. And, you know, fuck that.

The only other worthwhile news is that some total fucking dimshit, you know, the kind of guy that you just KNOW was standing too close when a big ol' dumb-bomb went off, he torched the big fantasy forest playground where Roz goes every day. And while the damage was relegated to only one of the towers, it still burnt that bitch to a crisp, and you know, WHAT THE FUCK?!? Who burns the goddamn playground? RRRRRGGGGHHH! Makes me itch, is what it does. Pfagh.