Green Gills and Turkey

“So this is Thanksgiving…”

 

Isn’t that what Lennon sang?  Christmas?  But the song is “Happy Xmas...War is Over.”  X=Thanksgiving, I took algebra. I’ve seen the proof. 

           

Christmas? Really? Huh, I must have got my Christ crossed. No, that’s Easter. I must be confused somewhere. It’s easy to do, especially since the Robby hamster wheel has been in full whirl since last Friday.  Wasn’t that Xween? Not that either? 

 

Can’t blame me for trying.  MyEx already did that.

 

Oh, sorry, it must be this cold; it’s got me cranky and delirious.  I haven’t felt like this since my Christmas retail days.  I’m so close to collapse, but I just need to make it until tomorrow…make it to Xgiving.

 

Still don’t like that one, huh?  What if I called it XXXgiving.  Would that give you something to “woo hoo” about? Gives a whole new meaning to stuffing on the table, I’ll tell ya.  As for me, there’ll be no stuffing on my table--breadcrumb or otherwise. My Xgiving will be bland.

 

This whatever-I’ve-got has my stomach doing strange dances.  It’s like Disney on bile skating around my abdomen, and Tinkerbelle is bouncing off the walls; she wants out.

 

Poor Tink.  Me too…

 

So far everything’s using the appropriate exit, which I’m thankful for, but I still don’t feel great, and I don’t have any energy. 

 

WHAAAAA!

 

I know.  I’m not only incoherent when I’m sick, I’m a big baby too.  Not even fun to be around—and yet you’re still reading.  Good for you! I’m not that persistent.  Not when I’m sick. That’s one of the first things to go.

 

After that, the next thing off the sinking ship Robby, is any shred of dignity I learned after age six.  Yup, I become a man-cub once more.  Call me Mogli—cuz I’m gonna need a dancing bear if I’m getting my bare necessities.

 

That bear used to be MyEx.  She wasn’t much of a dancer though.  That’s ok, I wasn’t either.  What’s more, when I was sick, I didn’t care.  I just needed whine target, and somebody to bring me my Nyquil.  She was good at that.  She’d lace it with extra goodies too.

 

“WHAAAA!  I want my Nyquil!”

“Here it is dear.”

“Wow! Quite the kick.”

“That’s the flask of rum and the ground horse tranquilizers:  Drink up.”

“O….K-“

 

Three days later I’d wake up in a lake of drool feeling like my old self.  That’s one of the tough things for me now, cuz now I’m fending for myself.  Now I’m sitting on the couch tapping out my blog waiting for my rum filled quil that will never come unless I get off my hairy butt and get it myself. 

 

So it ain’t coming.

 

That’s ok.  I’m not sick often.  I can do this.  What’s more, I’ll be thankful.  I’m learning to be sick on my own.  And if Tinkerbelle finds her way out, I’ll hold my own hair back as I lean over the toilet, or get gooey trying.

 

Ooooh, probably gonna want to clean that up…

 

See, even if I don’t feel well, it’s one more thing I can do to be alright in my own space.  I have memories that need purged, much like whatever’s bugging my stomach.  The only way to get rid of them is to work through it.  I’ve already done one Xgiving.  Now I can do it with my eyes closed. 

 

Next time I’m sick alone, I can do it.  I’m doing it now.  I’ll be able to do it with my eyes—well, maybe not that.  Tinkerbell is a little tricky.

 

So for all of you living your first Thanksgiving alone, do it, and do it big.  Enjoy yourself, and be thankful, because things will get better.  Like my cold/flu/whatever your pain will subside.  It just takes time to work though.

 

Happy Thanksgiving!