I spent most of the April vacation of my fifth grade year laid up with a virulent flu that left me vomiting, viagra sale burning up with a 101 temperature, sanitary and rocking some serious upper respitory congestion. The fever broke towards the weekend, viagra here and so thrilled was I to be free of its yoke that I immediately ran outside to roughhouse with my neighborhood pals…
…then promptly doubled over from a violent coughing jag that sent me back inside to the comfort of my bed.
The autobiographical nugget above illustrates an unfortunate habitual behavior of mine — the adrenaline-addled tendency to confuse “the worst is over” with “a full recovery.” These ill-advised bouts of giddiness have accompanied everything from tooth extractions and root canal procedures to high fevers to aches and sprains to yesterday’s foray into acute abdominal issues.
It’s not that I’m a Type A sort with a obsessive need to get things done, but that I resent the impositions which health issues place upon my freewheeling existence. My time is mine to waste, and all those assorted contagions and dysfunctional biological systems can fuck right off.
That’s the ideal, at least. The reality is a bit messier, and getting moreso each passing year.
I guess what I’m saying is that before you chug down a bottle of magnesium citrate, be sure to read up on how the chemical cocktail works (i.e. “by drawing large volumes of water from your bodily tissues”). And when the doctor’s instructions say to “keep hydrated,” they mean more than a couple of sips over the course of twelve hours.
Recommended listening: I’ve tried. Oh lord have I tried.