illusionofjoy | The thistle in my throat

Yesterday I was sent home from work at 11:30 in the morning. This occurred after I had arrived there at 7:00AM for the first time in weeks. However, the number of applications that arrived in the mail wasn't sufficient to keep everyone busy for a full eight hours, therefore, all the temps were sent home. We were told to arrive at 9:00AM this morning. I didn't show up.

Since Tuesday, I've had a sore throat and a nagging cough. Thankfully these symptoms didn't present themselves a day earlier, else I would have been fucked for singing. As it were, they appeared after I got the recording of "Disconnected" finished and have been growing steadily more severe as the week wore on. The brief time I spent at work yesterday was agonising, as I felt like I had a thistle in my throat. I was glad we were all sent home early, as it allowed me the opportunity to down some cough syrup and head straight to bed.

Still, I didn't think I was doing too badly. I stopped by masochistmonkey's studio and did a quick burn of Division so I could field-test the mixes before I sent them to be mastered. By the time I had finished burning, I had come to the stark conclusion that getting out of bed may not have been a good idea after all and that an afternoon nap and regular doses of cough syrup weren't going to be enough to defeat this plague.

Last night I went to bed feeling like death warmed over. My throat really hurt, I was hacking up all sorts of nasty fluids, I felt dizzy, I had body aches and I kept getting hot and cold chills. I doubt I slept very well last night - at least, it didn't feel like it when I woke up this morning and called off from work.

It was a good thing I didn't go in today anyhow. Had I shown up with this plague, they could have accused me of attempted terrorism - you, know biological warfare and all. One cough in the direction of a co-worker and The Patriot Act would have been stomping all over my ass.

At the present, I feel a little better. I'm able to sit up without feeling dizzy and my throat isn't burning as much. Also, my body temperature seems to have regained some sort of equilibrium. Hopefully I'm actually recovered, and not just witnessing a lull in my misery as the virus regroups for another full-on attack.

Speaking of full-on attacks, The Patriot Act and terrorism, I watched the first hour of The State of the Union address Tuesday night. Quite frankly, I found the members of the audience more interesting than any of the schlock falling from George W. Bush's mouth. Towards the end of the hour I watched, I was on a roll playing MST3K with Dubya's words while becoming frustrated that he couldn't just give a speech without having someone applaud for him every 30 seconds.

It was fascinating to watch the audience, however. During the course of the address, I noticed that Colin Powell looks shockingly pale. Jaded, I thought it interesting that the Republican party had finally found a black man white enough to be a cabinet member. I also noticed that Dick Cheney and John Ashcroft stood up every time Bush paused for applause. In Cheney's case, I prayed that he'd have a heart attack on live national TV whilst doing these exercises. For Ashcroft, I mused that this must be the only time that fat fuck ever gets any exercise, which would explain why it looked like he was falling asleep whenever he sat back down again.

Those further from Bush were an interesting mix. I saw several that looked like they were half asleep. I also glimpsed a few that appeared to be doing crossword puzzles as the address was given. During one of the standing ovations, I saw two representatives standing next to each other. One was clapping voraciously, while the other was adjusting his jacket and tie, otherwise looking bored. The more enthusiastic of the pair glanced as his college as if to say, "what are you doing? Applaud!" At this, with his coat and tie now presentable, the less enthused man begin a long, drawn-out palm-slap that could only mean one thing: "fuck you."

All the while, Bush prattled on about how the economy was getting stronger and how we needed to remain ever-vigilant against the terrorists. Fuck you, indeed, Mr. "President."