Getting Sick

Christ I think I'm getting sick.

Fuck.

Since I got up to take this watch at 2330 I've felt like total shit: my nose has been running harder than a black guy from a paternity suit, my head feels as swollen as it does normally due to my ego, and I just feel run down as if someone just spent an afternoon beating the shit out of me with a pillowcase filled with sodas.

I hate getting sick, and for the most part I almost never get ill. My immune system is like brigade of super intelligent, hot-shotting-anabolic-steriods-into-their-eyeball old-school Russian troops standing the line at Leningrad, fending off the invading Nazis with their bare fists. So in the rare times that I do get sick, I'm usually taken off my feet with good measure.

What makes matters worse is that I'm at work. Nothing's worse than being sick at work. For the typical person, you slug it out for eight hours and you get to go home, or even better, call out. In m case, I'm at "work" for up to fifty hours at a go. When I'm sick, I like to lay in bed, read, eat crackers, watch tv, jerk off, and nap in that order. It's part of my healing process.

And obviously I can't do that here.

And what compounds this further is the fact that my girlfriend basically doesn't have an immune system of her own. Her's is as frail as the bird's that flew into a sliding glass door. It's bad enough that right now her roommate is dying on a couch in her living room; and now her one safe-haven (my place) is going to be crawling with death and disease as well.

She's going to be pissed. Great.

I think I know how I got sick: We were working on one of the boats tonight, doing some fire-fighting training. I got wet. I wasn't wearing a hat over my skull. I then, being that I was "roasting" in my mustang, stripped down to just my t shirt and the mustang bottoms and walked the quarter mile back to the station from the end of the pier, wet and sweaty, with a light breeze.

I rack out for a few hours to rest up before the mids, and when I wake up my head is congested. I'm sitting up on the side of my bed, letting all the snot drain out of my face, thinking to myself "nice going, kid."

So to The Lady, who will read this in a few hours, "sorry luvy, hopefully I'll be better by Wenesday afternoon..." and to everyone else, go screw. I'm sick and authorized to be slightly more crabby than usual.