The Winter of My Discontent

This is the winter of my discontent.

I am not a sickly guy. Generally an entire calendar year can go by, and I suffer (at worst) two or three bouts of the sniffles, and the (very rare) stomach virus. But this winter, with its unnatural temperature swings and its seemingly endless precipitation, has laid me low. In the past two months I have had, at least two different stomach viruses, and three (count 'em) three separate head colds. I've lost about four days total off of work in this time and have contracted a serious case of the "I hate winter"'s.

My hetero-lifemate, Richard, once described winter as "the grey time". He said that winter (particularly southern snow-free winters) made him sad. He felt like he never got any work done during this "grey time" but just spent his days moping around, feeling introspective. I'm spending this year's "grey time" feeling sick.

**Massive Sidenote/Tangent** As I was typing the above paragraph I noticed that the word "grey" was showing up as misspelled. Pish-posh, I said to myself, I know how to spell the color "grey". But just to double check, I googled "the color grey". Guess what I found out? "Grey" is the original English spelling of the word. It is (and has been for several hundred years) the correct way to spell the color that lies somewhere between black and white. However, we Americans (along with a fondness for Fast Food, and large automobiles) like to be our own people, so we changed the spelling to "gray". In modern English, either spelling is acceptable, but "grey" is considered a little snooty. So "gray" is a color, but "grey" is a colour. Americans are so silly.**End Massive Sidenote/Tangent**

This whole thing really sucks, because generally I love Winter. It's when I get to wear all my sweaters, hoodies, cool coats etc. Christmas is in Winter and Christmas is "most wonderful time of the year" (they even wrote a song about it). As a lifelong resident of Louisiana, I have an almost unhealthy fascination with snow, and it only comes around in the Winter (and sometimes not even then around here). When I was in college, Winter Quarter had by far the most holidays which meant that the classes were never in session long enough to get boring, and occasionally (okay, so once during my five year tenure) you even got a snow day! My point is there is a lot to love about Winter. Just not THIS Winter.

So, what am going to do about my recent sickliness? Well, first and foremost I'm considering a relocation of the Drunken Rogue headquarters to a sunnier locale (I'm thinking Fiji). Second, after much insistence from my mother, the ladies at my office, and other people who are sure (as am I) that they know better than me, I'm going to start taking some vitamins. Also, I think I've decided to become a germaphobe, so look out, I might just Lysol you!

There is a sunny side to all of this recent sickness. I think I've actually lost some weight, although being sick for most of a month, you'd sort of expect that. The good news is that I do live in Louisiana and even in this crazy post-global warming world that we live in, Spring comes early here. Of course, Spring means pollen, which means hay fever. Oh, Lord.

Legendary Diarrhea

Catchy title isn't it?

We've all heard the stories (or maybe some of you haven't, I run with a pretty foul crowd) of diarrhea so heinous it seems to defy the laws of physics and anatomy. Some never think much about it at all (it is sorta gross after all). Others write it off as an urban myth, like the alligator in the sewers of New York (but it really happened to my sister's boyfriend's roommate from college!). But some, a proud and watchful few, know it to be real. I'm speaking of the Legendary Diarrhea.

Dear readers, I must advise you that while I maintain a clean and family-friendly atmosphere here, there are subjects (like today's) that require frankness. Sure, it may be funny, but what lies ahead is not for the faint of heart. A killer lies among us, waiting to strike. And I will not stand idly by while it claims another victim. Proceed at your own risk.

I can't recall exactly where I heard the story first, and I'd probably keep it anonymous even if I could. The victim was in the prime of life. Fit, young, virile. That's when it likes to strike. It's no fun laying low the elderly (well, it might be a little fun, but the AARP goes nuts!). While no one knows for sure where the illness came from, the victim claimed it originated in a bad "Reese's Pieces." That's right, ladies and gentlemen, not even E.T.'s favorite candy is safe. He was going about his business, enjoying a late night video game session with friends when all of a sudden, LD struck.

It presented itself as gas. Not the kind you fuel your car with, or heat your house. No, the gas that you blame on the dog, or fire in the direction of your enemies. But this gas was not amusing. It was painful, and its release was accompanied by...how to be delicate here...fluids. That's right, fluids where no fluids should be. Sure, the victim was uncomfortable, but soon enough his business seemed to be done. He recovered himself, washed his hands and retreated to his bedroom to lie down, cursing that "Reese's Pieces." But the LD was not done with our boy.

Not fifteen minutes had passed when again the victim found himself...bloated. Full to brimming as it were. He waddled to the bathroom as fast as his discomfort would allow, and was surprised when again the situation...exploded (just use your imagination). Now surely, the victim thought, he had not only gotten rid of the offending food, but anything else that might have been hiding in his small intestine. He retired to his bed, longing for the rest of sleep. It was not to be.

The story that was told to me continued for several dozen more bathroom trips over the next 48 hours. The victim made a valiant effort at hydration, but sadly lost his battle with LD and expired. The peace that he could not find on the toilet, finally found him in death. It's true. It happened to my sister's boyfriend's old college roommate. I swear.

Alright, so I was skeptical of the existence of LD, too. It's easy to buy into the stories of Sasquatch (or Rosie O'Donnell as the Native Americans refer to him), and anyone can see the logic behind Gilligan being Kennedy's assassin (we know why you took that three hour tour!), but come on. Killer Diarrhea? I don't buy it. Or, at least I didn't.

Being the Drunken Rogue comes with certain powers and abilities. I have a stronger than average constitution, am impervious to all truth serums, and I have the uncanny ability to burp the entire Beatles catalog. Generally, I don't get sick. So, Tuesday morning on our way back to Ruston when I had to pull over with car-sickness, I didn't think much of it. I hadn't had anything to drink the night before, but surely life owes me a couple of hang overs. And later that day, when I went to the bathroom at work for the third time in an hour, I still wasn't really worried. I probably just ate a little more than I should have the night before. It was the sixth trip to the bathroom, when I discovered that both my ends longed to be aimed towards the toilet that I realized there was something wrong.

Whatever you've heard about "the virus" that's going around (no, not Ebola. The stomach virus) it's much, much worse. I had no idea that my body had so much in it, nor that it could come out so quickly. I have gained a newfound respect for my digestive tract, and its processes.

As I sit here typing, nearly three days since the LD struck, I am weakened, I am bruised from battle, but I am resolute and recovering. Stand vigilant, my friends. There is danger behind that burrito, and death in the double dip. We stand prepared, or we lie defeated.