“Are you okay?” the station agent
asked me with a very concerned look in his eyes. “Do you need
help?”
I smiled, laughed a bit. “I swear. I
think I'll be okay.” I managed, as I wiped a bead of sweat from my
chin.
I must have looked like I was battling
the black plague. I was lugging two huge bags, my hair was stuck to
my forehead, and drips of sweat poured down my cheeks falling onto my
loosened scarf. I felt the flush of fever on my face in harsh
contrast to the cold chill of NY on my neck. People were staring.
I was miserable. The morning rush hour
foot traffic streamed about around me like ants; I was the disruptive
foot in the middle of the hill.
I got my ticket and settled onto the
Metro North train. Peeled off layers of clothing and sat in my
undershirt, soaked and panting, as my body worked to break the 103
degree fever. The past few days had already been a comedy of errors
consisting of my receiving the wrong date for a job, waking up at 6
and schlepping to Grand Central, only to find out I ACTUALLY needed
to do the same thing again TOMORROW.
I was supposed to arrive up north
“camera ready.” I had visions of them horrified at the
sweaty-mess imposter that showed up in place of the girl whose
headshot they saw a few days earlier. I imagined them holding up the
picture, glancing at me looking like a drowned refugee, back at the
smiling picture, to me with the plague, to the picture...
Luckily my body pulled itself together
by the time I got there, and with a lot of hand sanitizer and Advil I
made it through the day filming a local commercial for a car
dealership. “Tell me about financing...”
I've now been battling this
flu-situation for over 5 days. I've canceled plans and auditions,
been unable to attend parties, essentially slept my way through the
last full week/weekend in the city before home-for-the-holidays. Oh,
but not before slopping together a Christmas party that I had planned
for weeks and was unable to cancel after I misjudged how long this
illness would linger.
I have tried to remain positive. I've
smiled, and joked, and mustered energy for most of this bullshit
sickness. I've been witty and upbeat as I laid in bed experiencing
some odd mix of shivering and sweating, with my body aching and a
thermometer perpetually protruding from my lips. But, it's official!
I am OVER it.
F*ck the Flu! Just f*ck f*ck f*ck it.
I LOVE CHRISTMAS and, I have to tell
you, the white lights and angels I had in mind for this time of year
are a little different from the kinds one sees from her death bed. I
have yet to decorate a tree. I have yet to sip tea at a holiday
market. I have yet to wander the city taking in the freakin' holiday
spirit with a goddamn hot beverage in my hand and the smell of warm
f*cking nuts in my nostrils!!!
...so...
I'm kinda in a mood...
BUT, I have glimmers of hope that I
will pull myself out of it. I've read articles about good people
doing good deeds, I've found some great gifts online, I've painted my
nails in true Holiday fashion... This week, I will make an effort to
douse myself in some f*cking Christmas cheer if it's the last thing I
do. ...which it may be since this fever may ruin me like Beth in
Little Women. (spoiler alert: the bitch dies.)
So...
Happy Holiday season! Seriously. I
mean, Christmas dinner this year may consist of scrambled eggs with a
side of Tamiflu, but dammit it will be served on a freakin' snowman
plate.
Ho. Ho. H-bleh.
It's amazing that you made it to that commercial feeling the way you did . . . whew! And you still managed to paint your nails "in true Holiday fashion" (a festive image, indeed). As an integrative nutritionist, you know what to do to help your body recover. You'll be back in the swing any moment now.
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