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Per Instructions, Feeding the Cold with Negative Thoughts

After reading this article, Constance considers mulling over Elinor's unsettling plight, too.

Woman Spends Sick Day Catching Up On Negative Thoughts, by Erin Zimmerman | THE WHISKEY JOURNAL
Chicago: After contracting the strep virus last weekend, Elinor Pope spent Wednesday in bed, ruminating on every poor life choice she had ever made. The… 

Went to bed early last night… fatigue set in after trying 19 remedies, all recently proffered by well-meaning friends I probably don’t deserve, to end this year’s change-of-season cold.

The Herb Shop clerk who sold me two non-gluten/non-GMO supplements (“likely to diminish most cold symptoms within days”) was so helpful and patently concerned that I hugged her in appreciation,  and I’ve spent the days since angst-ridden over the possibility that I inadvertently passed to her the cold she is determined to heal in me.  I’ve since warned off friends and acquaintances (“Unclean! Unclean!”) and am conducting my wellness battle online.

Results are mixed, in part because it’s difficult to follow directions when I can’t see for the weeping eyes and can’t think for the congestion pressing relentlessly on my brain. One friendly and helpful email restated that since it appeared I’d misread her recommendation in my nose-blowing weepy-eyed state, the cayenne-loaded-hot-water remedy was for (capitals her own) GARGLING, NOT DRINKING. Thankfully, I saw that before I’d drunk more than, say, half the cup.

On the positive side, once I feel better, I’m thinking of producing a bumper sticker for my car: “Real friends follow up.”

Sleep came blessedly early, and my night was interrupted only by half a dozen trips to the bathroom (possibly the results of “force hot water with lemon juice” or, who knows, maybe the cayenne) interspersed with wakeful moments spent reviewing the rumor I spread in second grade after sweet Shirley had begged me not to tell… how I bragged in fourth grade that I could use as much sugar as I wanted on my cereal to some poor sweet kids who were limited to one spoonful… that I was unpopular in high school not because people were prejudiced against girls who made As but because I never smiled and was quite possibly overall unlikable… questioning why, when people stop by unexpectedly and I’m so tickled to see them and want to know what they’re up to, I spend the whole visit talking and telling and demonstrating and not shutting up and then wonder why we don’t see them more often… and how my mother patted my hand last week and reminded me I was young then and senile now and could be forgiven these missteps, and then I thought how ungrateful I’ve been to her through the years, which made me cry again while I was up anyway blowing my nose.

This morning I’m faced with that wrenching decision of whether to keep commitments that could spread a cold (heartless! unthinkable!) to thousands of unsuspecting people or cop out and call in, which I do often enough without the cold and which is probably why nobody trusts me. Then I saw this article , and I realize I’m not alone.  Which makes me so sad I could just cry. 

What the Nikko Says

Posted by on Jun 28, 2016 in Constance Comments | Comments Off on What the Nikko Says

What the Nikko Says

This is Wilma’s hydrangea, blossoming under the sun with flossy petals bouncing in the breeze in our front yard. Wilma became my friend in 1968. We were the two “girls” hired right after high school graduation to work at E.L. Yeager Construction in Riverside; it was apparently a tradition there, hiring a couple of work-experience highschoolers. This was a first job for each of us, and it was certainly the first time I’d ever experienced the word “probation”.  I’d never had that word associated with my name before. Wilma sat...

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