a well-oiled machine

i don't mean to harp on it, but i don't get this sick very often. in the last few days i've managed to fill the contents of FIVE extra-large boxes of Puffs Plus with the emissions from my face, have been awake roughly 12 hours out of 36 and have acquired a voice that, while certainly not as sexy, sounds a hell of a lot like Smurfette. but i have to admit, death doesn't seem around the corner anymore.

at the reunion, i spent a lot of time talking to croc and her husband. she and her college roommate were angels one of the last times i was this sick. they lived three floors above me our freshman year and we hung out nearly every day.

everyone knows that college dormitories are breeding grounds for all kinds of airborne viruses and sniffles and colds, but that year, i managed to pick up the death flu. all i can remember is that i thought i was going to die. because my roommate had gone home for the weekend and my impending death seemed like a real possibility, i took a swig from the NyQuil bottle, dragged my scraggly ass up to croc's room and basically collapsed.

their tiny room pretty much only had space for a bunk bed, two desks and a small tv, with an area to sit on the floor. so they inflated an air mattress and i pretty much passed out there. for 21 hours. at first they were careful to try and talk quietly and keep the television down, but because i had the blanket completely over my face and didn't stir, they got bolder. i'm told they were going about their business, rocking to music and laughing and talking on the phone even louder than usual. i didn't even flinch.

after i came out of my coma, i felt nearly brand-new. all i had needed was to be in a place with other people, even if they weren't interacting with me, just to recharge and let my body fight the demon. God knows what my roommate would have found at the end of the weekend, had i been alone.

thanks, croc! it was great to see you.