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  • Writer's pictureChoo Choo


The new year is off to a dispiriting start. I got back to Baltimore last Friday (a day later than expected, after my original flight was canceled due to crazy weather conditions). On Sunday I started coming down with some kind of throat/head/nose virus that has rendered me miserable and bed/couchridden all week. Too tired and bleary to practice, too stubborn and hippie-dippie to take drugs, my week has been more like one endless day of watching bad TV, drinking an impossible amount of water, naps, coughing, alternating between periods of being death-rattlingly cold and hot-flashingly sweaty, and, finally when the hours grow wee and the ad space on TV starts being dominated by phone sex hotlines and male enhancement drugs, I call it a night and fall into a deep coma, waking only to pee and hack up throat debris.

The cough has left me sounding like an emphysemic septuagenarian cheerleader. My already pretty low voice is at least two octaves lower, so at this point I'm pretty sure only whales can hear me. My throat is so painful and inflamed that I've taken to compulsively rubbing my neck just to make sure it's still goiter-free.

These days it's a race to see who can nap more, me or the cats. They're pros, but I think I'm putting up a good fight.

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