Six foot, seven foot, eight foot, bunch!

Behold! I am all but recovered, having received antibiotics for my various infections. You know you have something impressive when the doctor whoops every time he peers into one of your head-holes. Whoa! Hey! What the--! That’s infected too? It’s disconcerting to think that a cold can lead to total bacterial invasion. It might not have helped that I was on a steady diet of Christmas cookies. I’m betting that filling your body with refined sugar every day doesn’t exactly support a weakened immune system. But the cookies, they were so delicious.

After so many days of staying inside, drinking warm liquids and seeing what items I could smell (really, I did this for days), I am now socially crippled. I try to talk to people and I don’t know how to modulate my voice and I can’t remember what questions you’re supposed to ask. “Is it a nice day out?” No, wait, I’ve already been outside, I had to go outside to get here, WRONG QUESTION! STUPID! STUPID! It doesn’t help that my ears are still clogged and most of what I hear is the loud roaring of my brain trying to work correctly.

Years ago, when I worked at a faceless corporation, I had a morning routine: When I got to my building I went to the kiosk in the lobby, said hello to the nice kiosk man, took a banana and a Times, gave him my money, and went upstairs. Then one day I came in, said hello, took a banana and a Times, took out my money, then put my money in my other hand, and handed the guy behind the counter the banana. And the poor man accepted the banana, looked at me sadly, and said, “Oh, no.” (As if I wouldn’t correct my mistake and give him actual money. You accepted the banana, sir. You accepted that transaction. Eat the banana. EAT IT.)

Anyway, that’s what I’m like today. People try to talk to me and I keep handing them bananas.