So, it’s official. I’m probably going to die. Oh, the people at the doctor’s office acted like it was no big thing. Just bronchitis. But I know the truth. I have some creeping lung disease. I may not have spent much time in a coal mine, but I know what this cough means. Certain doom.
Also, I have a real stuffy nose. The above few lines, when read out loud, sound something like this: “I bay not hab spend much dime in a coal bine, bud I know wud tis cough means. Cerdin doob.”
Yes, cerdin doob, my friends. Your brave hero might not survive this one.
I have found a temporary way to alleviate the insidious symptoms of my disease. I can sit in the bathroom with the hot water running in the shower, and make a little rain forest for myself in there. It’s giving me Robert Plant hair, and I’m sweating, but I’m pretty sure that what I’m also doing is breathing. I haven’t done it in so long, it’s hard to tell, but I’m confident that this is what people are referring to when they talk about it.
So, this is my view, today:
I like the bathroom, because it has a natural place to sit. Also, it is convenient for when I start sneezing and coughing and hacking and wheezing and peeing at the same time. But notice how shiny the walls are. That’s a combination of being slick with moisture from the tropical climate I’ve introduced, and the fact that the guy who “helped” me at Lowes was like, “Get high gloss for your bathroom and kitchen!” Well, I don’t know what he thought I was going to be doing in those rooms that I would need vinyl-like paint that was highly susceptible to peeling (like, what, did he think I was going to make a homemade sweat lodge in there or something? Well, I DID), but holy cow, is it annoying. I hate my paint.
Check out my awesome bathroom reading, yo. I like to leave books in the bathroom, because I think it tells people, “I am a good time manager. I use every moment available in the day to broaden my mind and experience. Even when I am pooping.”
Okay, this is my shower curtain. I bought it because I thought it was so cool. Like, Enchanted Tiki Room cool. I brought it home, took down our old one, which was just plain white, and hung this one up, thinking it looked so awesome and that I was just the bestest, most funnest decorator ever.
And everyone makes fun of it.
My enthusiasm for it has not waned, but now there is an edge of spite to its presence. It’s me saying, “Screw you, world. I love my shower curtain. If you don’t like it, go to hell!”
Me and my shower curtain, against the world.
My husband complains that I have to much stuff on the bathroom counter. I say, “What the hell do you need so much space on the counter for? Are you going to do an autopsy in there or something? Shut up!”
The bathroom is an enormous source of marital tension, really, once you factor in the shower curtain and the counter space issue. I’m sure if we ever get a divorce, right next to “Reason for petition” it will say “Bathroom.”
Dime mas! you’re all saying. Okay. I will. These are the lights in my bathroom. They annoy me, because I bought the wrong light bulbs when two burned out, and they don’t match. I tried to make it look intentional by alternating them, or putting two of the same on the outside and the other two in the middle, but it’s just not working out. This is the best I can do.
So, that’s what I’m doing today. I’m sitting in my bathroom/steam room and pretending to be alive, when what I really want to do is curl up into a ball and die. But don’t worry, somehow, I shall soldier on, I’m sure. I always do. For I am tough.
Also, look at this turtle:
Is that not the happiest turtle you’ve ever seen? Look how thrilled he looks! No matter what awesome thing happens to you today (maybe an author you really like doesn’t die of lung collapse in her bathroom), your day is not going to be in anyway as good as that turtle’s day is going, I guarantee it.