I have been to the floor (gently), thence totteringly to the doctor, the drugstore, the grocer's, the kitchen (reheated gumbo with a little of this and that, cooking as if I was cooking at sea) and I am gonna climb back under the robots as soon as I have dined--
What? A question? The robots?
I, for one, find our new automaton overlords warm and comfy!
The downside is, I have an inner-ear and sinus infection raging. I was clumsy the last couple of days and yesterday, found myself variously dizzy and, on occasion, making far less sense than usual. (And isn't that nice, frantically trying to replay your last few words while thinking, "I just said what?") This morning, I stood up to head for the shower and found myself heading for my knees instead. I figured if I wasn't doing any better by the time I was clean, I'd be headed to doc-innna-box. The trip was locked in when I soaped up my hair with my eyes shut and found myself bouncing off the walls -- luckily not the fourth one, what with it being a curtain and all.
Uncle Doc, he shook the old feathered rattle and plied the old otoscope and opined what he was seeing in my sinister ear was was more cloudy than should ever be seen, and I should hie forthwith in search of the fabled and mystical Z-Pack, to which end he granted me a Sigil under the name of the Great Rx. Such a similarity to my own monicker could only be a Sign and thus with both Sign and Sigil I applied for and was -- eventually, hot damn they were slow at The Floorblues or whatever that sink of iniquity is called -- granted one such Pack, of which I have partook and shall continue to partake of for lo, the next four days.
And now, gumbo warming me, I'm for under the quilt. Tomorrow will, I hope, be better.
T. R. MCELROY'S STREAMLINED TELEGRAPH KEYS
1 year ago