March 12th, 2026. "I'd Love to bu- coff coff coff"

I was feeling so good. I could mind control the cat. Ish.

Finally making Amy's Christmas
present! Tantive IV.

Codeine is like someone vomited burnt rubber down my throat. And the taste doesn’t leave you. I don’t know how people get addicted to this. And vomiting codeine is like having someone vomiting actively burning rubber back up your throat. I woke up tasting the codeine from the night before and this morning, I think - I hope - I’m well enough that I’m not going to take it today.

I am not going to take it. But I am sick as the proverbial dog. Though I do NOT understand that expression. Honestly, if a dog was breathing or wheezing or coughing like I’ve been doing for the past couple of days, it would’ve been put down. I have been PROFOUNDLY sick, and though today I’ve been seeing a glimmer of hope, the moment I tried to wish my fair wife a good morning, I broke down coughing and had to whisper.

It’s been 70-80 degrees for the past several days, and not that I’m one to go and play in the sun, I am non-plussed that on this day whence my breathing is at least better, it’s snowing.

It was 80 degrees yesterday, and now it is SNOWING.

I remember my mom calling the doctor when I was sick as a child, and a couple of times in college I went down to the health centre, and once while Living at home again between teaching and getting a job selling books at a book store, I got sick and my dad took me to one of those quick treatment franchises that was probably a Pizza Hut a couple of months beforehand. Most of those visits had non-results. “It’s a virus, you can’t do anything about that”. “Everyone gets that it doesn’t matter”. “You’ll feel better in a week”. Strange how back then, health insurance wasn’t really on my radar, but the moment it was, the idea of using one’s insurance and potentially LOSING one’s insurance over a hundred-dollar doctor’s visit to get told “meh, good luck” – well, it’s why I didn’t see a doctor again till I was 40.

Saturday I knew I was sick. Kristen had BEEN sick for quite some time. We dosed the Hell up on various medicines, double-checked our COVID tests, and played 7 Locks in Rockville, MD. We actually had an incredible night. I was feeling the effects of cough syrup and illness, kept to elbowing people and kept our distance from Heather, even though it was her last night in town. We got mobbed by children at the beginning of the night (still find it weird that bringing kids to the brewery is a THING) and we're SO thankful that Heather has patience for that. We actually had a FANTASTIC show. Came home, came down, wound down... I texted Juels to let him know he was probably going to need to host Morsbergers the next night because I could feel the Ick...

Pillow recliner makes it possible to breathe.

Since then, I’ve tried to be good about my annual visits and Important Tests. The colonoscopy was exciting but was the first time I’d ever had an anesthetic. This week was “supposed” to be a regular visit, I’m very glad it aligned with this insane illness because it probably would’ve taken a while longer before I actually called the doctor to say “help, I’m sick”.

But holy crap. I needed help. I’m sick.

I LIKE my doctor a lot. I don’t know that he’s particularly proactive, and when I’ve asked him specific questions there IS a lot of “well, you’re getting older” and “that doesn’t look like something we should worry about yet”. There’s the cliché stuff (I need to lose weight and exercise more – and I’m trying, I’m trying) but Tuesday morning after determining my heart was racing and my temperature and blood pressure were running high, he pressed his hands around my forehead until it hurt, had me breathe until I had a (I must admit spectacular) coughing fit, listened to my lungs for a bit and declared “sinus infection”. “Particularly invasive” no less! I could feel where he’d pressed into my forehead for the rest of the day.

Hence, antibiotics and the aforementioned codeine.

Honestly, +/- the horrifying newly-discovered taste of codeine and the feeling like my abs are going to fall out of my body from coughing, I’m almost grateful for the absolutely debilitating illness. It’s an excuse to just STOP. (well, not completely, somehow yesterday was the worst day, vomiting from codeine, absolutely disoriented, I had problems to try and solve from Institute of Musical Traditions [help, we can’t find…] and FocusMusic [so it’s time to start doing Facebook ads and we need to do it NOW!], my mother [help, I’ve lost my phone] AND the typical “I can’t get in touch with x, but I can get in touch with r where r=you” but from three different organizations seeking three different people, all of whom are hard to reach – all of whose associates have decided *I* am their keeper.

Wednesday was hard, and I was totally unequipped to deal with it. I should’ve gotten a NOTE from my doctor. That evening I think I had to correct most of the things I'd said before noon.

BUT, I haven’t been gigging, I passed my open mics along, we canceled the webstream. I’m reading the news but feel detached. Word's getting round. rob has STOPPED.

Honestly, I think yesterday morning was the worst I’ve ever felt since maybe having chicken pox as a child. Remembering my brother and I whispering to each other because it hurt too much to talk, deciding the nausea wasn’t as bad if we crawled rather than walked – I remember the feeling of my parents’ hallway carpet on my bare knees, the crinkling sound of the linoleum in the foyer, the worry of splinters in the Living room, being so upside down schedule wise that I was wide awake for the nightly news. Ha. I only remember the images of giant guns firing and soldiers running around. Perhaps Operation “Urgent Fury”? Which sounds more like a description of a bad urological condition. Bombings in Beirut, Russians shooting down passenger jets, and *gasp* Israel was at war.

I remember very little from watching the news with my parents growing up. Just war. Looking back, I see that in 1983 the government was splitting hairs to excuse their defense and employment of a Nazi, Klaus Barbie. Huh. 1983 also saw massive Australian wildfires and, if you want to give yourself nightmares, look up the “1983 Soviet nuclear false alarm incident”. I get, and generally agree that we Live in the worst of times, but … sometimes I honestly think it’s just that we Live in the most-completely-COVERED of times. (though Trump continues to just pour gasoline on every fire imaginable).

Okay, what I meant was – I’m sick. I’m still sick. Feeling a lot better but still sick. Kristen’s sick. She’s neither reached my spectacular LEVEL of sick nor is she seemingly recovering as quickly. Where I aspire to drama, heights and depths, Kristen sort of just pushes along. Together we suffer.

*cough cough*

The snow’s stopped. It was 80 degrees this time yesterday. It’s now 36.