I may have mentioned it before, but I hate tea. I am a coffee gal, through and through. I’ve tried, time and again, to like tea. I keep telling myself that it’s like coffee and beer; you have to develop a palate. Drink enough of it until you find it enjoyable. But, it hasn’t worked. It’s just dirty water. Or, as Zuko said, ‘just tea leaf juice.’
That’s an Avatar: The Last Airbender reference. The show, not the dreadful movie.
Anyway, last night at work, my throat felt as if it were lined with razorblades. Let me preface this with the fact that I don’t really get sick. Haven’t been sick in over 2 years. But last night, a coworker and myself were both miserable. And apparently a customer had the following to say on the virus:
“It just started as a tickle. Scratchy throat. No big deal. Then the next morning I thought I had the Black Plague.”
Don’t start hauling me out to the street just yet! I awoke quite miserable. Headache, sinus drainage, achey face, and a throat coated in sandpaper. But, I imagine the Black Plague would be much worse.
I tossed around the idea of just laying in bed until 2pm. Just lounge in my misery, reading ‘1408’ and feeling sorry for myself. Writer’s can have sick days, right? And then I imagined a steaming hot shower, mirror fogged over, and myself with a cup of tea at Starbucks.
But, here I sit, generally feeling better. My hair dangles in a wet braid to rest just above my shoulder blades, the plate that bore the Bacon breakfast sandwich sits barren on the table, but my belly is full. And, just to the right of the MacBook is a piping, half-empty mug of tea.
For you Starbucks junkies, it’s a grande, 1 teabag Refresh, 1 teabag Calm with 2 honeys.
And, as much as I don’t like tea, I really am enjoying this mug. The Refresh (Starbucks lingo for Mint) leaves a pleasant tingle on my tongue and lips, and the honey leaves a nice coating of peace on my aching throat. I’m probably going to have another mug before work starts.
So, I didn’t call in sick to my writing. But, I will admit that my mind doesn’t want to focus. My ears feel full. Need to pop. I’ve got one nostril that seems to be determined to run, and a stiff and creaky back and shoulders. Add to it, a head heavy with I don’t-want-to-know-how much-mucus.
But, I brought my binder full of stories. I brought ‘Everything’s Eventual’. I fully intend to at least give ‘The Portrait of Sterling Madison’ a good once over today. And then potentially pass out at this table.
But, I’m here. I’m trying. And hopefully I don’t keel over halfway through my shift at the Bux tonight.