About a month ago, I was incredibly sick (which probably means I had a sore throat and therefore thought the world was coming to an end, and did not in fact have the "i'm going to die" flu I thought I had) and traveling for work. I refused to miss the opportunity, as I was lucky enough to get Michael Phelps to putt golf balls into keg cups in a gym in Baltimore. I haven't figured out if that's actually cool or not yet. In a drugged up haze on my flight home, I decided to write out random thoughts that I thought would materialize into a post when I landed. Reading it back, I don't think I made much of a point (so, you know, there's a new theme).
While on a bunch of drugs, here were my thoughts on being sick.
I just went on a trip for work, and literally have no idea what happened in the last 48 hours. I'm pretty sure I just met Michael Phelps (*editor's "I'm the best at life" note: this is actually true and not make believe. He's shorter than you'd think and has webbed feet...and only one of these facts is true). If I do, in fact, have the "It's all over, I will never be okay, I'm going to die" flu that I believe I have, it will be fascinating if he contracts it. Mainly because that's not a real flu and I'd love to hear on the news that someone contracted the, "It's all over, I will never be okay, I'm going to die" flu, because there should be a flu named that just because it would be funny. More importantly, though, I just want to be on Larry King Live when he asks:
Larry: "Drew, what were you thinking going to meet Michael Phelps when you had this terrible illness?"
Drew: "Well Larry, he's famous, and I wanted to be on your show. That and I have no idea what's happened for a week straight and feel like i've been on mescaline, so for all I know I just visited a dolphin and we swam together. No, seriously, we may have. If so, Lar, i'd like that memory back so I can figure out how I learned to have unlimited breath underwater."
Larry: "Good stuff, Drew. Good stuff. Coming up next: Why do I still wear suspenders? Will I answer the question or will my eyebrows just inexplicably grow longer during the commercial break? Stay tuned."
Here's what I love about being sick: it feels like being drunk for days at a time. Not the "this is great, let's talk loud and kiss random people" fun part though. It's just the spinning, "wait why am I at home with my toilet and not with an attractive girl" part. Almost like a bad hangover that just won't go away. What's even more hilarious is what you wear to bed. You'd think you were going to climb Mt. Kilimanjaro, it's ridiculous. Last night I wore (I shit you not) fleece pants, wool socks, a shirt and sweatshirt with the hood worn, while underneath a down comforter and a fleece sheet. I mean, what?
A positive about being sick, though? Wait for it, anorexics....it's like the greatest accidental diet on the planet. You should try it. It's called "not hungry ever and sweat away all of your body weight awkwardly all day." Want to control your portions and lose a few quick pounds? Go to a random kindergarten classroom and just touch everything little kids touch. Boom. You just accidentally acquired a diet. It's way easier than exercise and healthier eating habits...you just don't eat.
The best part is, I am now writing this on a plane in a middle seat. Now THAT'S God laughing at you when you feel like this. As of this exact moment, I completely understand why babies cry while traveling. No, seriously, two inches to the left and right are plenty of room to sit comfortably in a chair and function as a normal human being for five straight hours. Oh, what's that, you'll make up for it by showing me "Ice Age 14: Seriously, we're still making sequels to this movie" as my in-flight entertainment? Perfect. I'm sorry, irrationally angry for no apparent reason flight attendant, what did you say? Food isn't standard anymore? Awesome. Could you just give me a ginger ale and then come back around to pick it up as trash within 14 seconds, forcing me to drink faster than humanly possible? No problem then, that makes up for the lack of satiation. As long as you kick me in the shins on my way off the plane, I'm pretty sure this has all been worth my while. However, odds are I am so hopped up on dayquil at this point that this isn't even happening (I'm sitting next to Anne Hathaway, p.s....Anne, stop touching my thigh! Sorry guys, I told her I was writing but she just won't listen...it's they puppy love phase, you know how it is).
I'm going to go to bed now. By go to bed, I mean I'm going to sit up straight so as to not awkwardly put my head romantically on the shoulder of the weird German man sitting next to me (who can presumably see me writing this, but also presumably can't read this because he's German...BAM, how's that for a logic bomb). Talk to you when I've lost seven pounds due to the profuse sweating from my nighttime wardrobe selection. Or been killed by the German guy who can, in fact, speak and read English.