Someone Shoot Me

It was there on Thursday, a little itch in the back of my throat. I tried not to notice or think about what would come of it, but by that night, there was an honest sniffle.

I cannot imagine much worse than being sick, I guess being dead would probably rank right up there, but even then the things your body secretes, sneezes, hurts and wretches wouldn’t be as annoying as they are alive. And seeing an illness about to hit you makes people act like they do when a cop passes them and then they put on their seatbelt. But I bowed my head that Friday morning, dressed for work and left home trying not to think about the inevitable. I drank orange juice instead of the usual three to four cups of coffee. I didn’t smoke since that drains all the vitamin C. I even took a multi-vitamin. But mostly, I didn’t want to act sick. I just needed to ignore it. I tried to think of what Homer Simpson said one time when he ran a red light while covering his eyes, “If I don’t see it, it’s not there.”

The following three days, I would have rather ... fallen asleep with a running chainsaw, or ... painted racial slurs across my bare nekkid body and attended the funeral of Loretta Scott King, or ... dressed myself in boots, spurs and chaps, wore a ten gallon hat made of Vaseline and bought two tickets for "Brokeback Mountain."

All this was said as a friendly reminder to TAKE A VITAMIN EVERY ONCE AND A WHILE!