A higher viewer count than I’m used to at this point in the week. I can only assume you’re all gripped by the details of my looming demise. Sorry to be a buzzkill, but if you strike me down I will become more powerful than you can ever imagine! Or I’ll just succumb to my illness and be found as a desiccated husk hunched over in my computer chair. At this point, either is entirely possible. I think I’m coming ’round the bend and arriving at the mend. I made it to work today. Just.
I was on the TTC garbed up in my fluffy armour, defence against the nefarious chilling wintry wasteland that surrounded me. Okay, it was kind of pretty. The slush hadn’t set in too much yet and it was still sort of darling. I digress, this is about the evils of the frosty season. So I was bundled up, minding my business, gripping a handy pole just to keep myself upright. We’d arrived at Spadina and I was suddenly overtaken by an unbearable urge to throw up. Simultaneously, I felt like I was suffocating and couldn’t breathe. Just hold on to the next spot I thought. Rather than showering everybody in a 2m radius in your sickness, why not do the decent thing and hold tight. Don’t let them see you cry. So I did. Regular Bloor Line users will know, Spadina and St George aren’t terribly far apart. In my state I perceived time to rival infinity. Asymptote-matic of my condition, one might say (I likely got that one wrong. Maths isn’t my strong point). My body started heaving, I wasn’t doing well. My blinks became laden and heavy and my balance begun to slip away from me. I waited to hear that recorded soundbite transmit over the speakers like an angel’s harp. When my eyes opened, I was seeing spots. Blinking furiously, I gave in to unconsciousness.
“St George. St George station” said the speaker. I pried my eyes wide to see the door already open. Grabbing my bag, I stumbled out the door and sat down on a bench, removing all my extra winter layers and hyperventilating aggressively. I took a few minutes there, drank some water and started to cool down. Soon enough I was too cold and had to find a heat compromise. Surveying my options, I realised that if travelling via TTC was gonna do me in, at least I was much closer to work than home. If I could just make it another two stops, I could stock up on drugs and try my best to get through the day.
Electrolytes, painkillers, soup. I was dehydrated first and foremost. I needed fluids to replace those I’d lost through sweat, but electrolytes to give my body something to run on. That’d deal with the nausea, dizziness, hyperventilating and childlike desire to drink a bottle of juice. Painkillers to soothe my aching head, muscles and eyes. Soup. Well I needed something in my belly after two days of hardly eating. My morning oatmeal, while laden with honey, was still on the warpath. I had a bad feeling about this. Am I trying to force too many Star Wars puns here? Dagobah too quickly for me to catch sometimes. The day though, didn’t go by too quickly. I drifted throughout the workday as if stuck in the most mundane dream of all time. I did my work, but struggled with forming coherent conversation. It’s nice to know that I’ve at least attained enough skill at my job to complete it while impaired, but that’s not knowledge I’d be stoked to take advantage of again.
I’m now lying low with my meds at home, hoping to recharge and ready myself for the work Christmas party tomorrow. A free trip to the aquarium was the perfect bait. Hooked me in right away. Apparently they’ve scaled it up from last year’s warehouse party after low attendance. Let’s sea how the new venue will go. I’m pretty excited. Hope it doesn’t brine on my parade.