The Random Yak

No, I didn’t intend a blogging hiatus that stretched from Thanksgiving until a week after.

I also didn’t intend to spend all that time unconscious (or wishing I was).

Chalk it up as Exhibit “A” in the case for “You Don’t Always Get What You Want.” (Rolling Stones not included.)

It all started with “No, dear, I don’t need a flu shot this year.  Yes, I know what I’m doing.  It’s only going to immunize me against one strain of flu anyway.”

One Strain of Flu.

One massively evil, demented, horrifyingly sinus-related strain of flu.  Probably the one that’s had my head pounding like seven tiny reindeer dancing on my forehead for the last seven days.  Possibly the one that’s had me coughing, sniffling and sneezing like an iceberg stuck in the throes of global warming.  Maybe even the one that raised my temperature to a startling 102 and caused me to completely miss Thanksgiving.

No turkey.  No dressing.  No gravy, no pie.  Sad, sad yak.  Alone in bed with a bottle of NyQuil and a handful of Tylenol, while everyone else gobbled away.  One bright spot on the day:  The Random Niece (who’s three) liked playing with me so much on the previous days that she had to see me Thanksgiving morning.  The Random Mother let her peek into the room just long enough to ask “Are you sick?” and see that my bundled-up form wasn’t likely to emerge from bed any time soon.  Some time later she apparently gave all the relatives the slip and sneaked back into the room.  I woke to a little voice asking, “Are you still sick?”  Nice to know someone wasn’t willing to give up on me so easily (though I’m glad her little foray hasn’t cost her a round with The Virus That Ate Thanksgiving). 

When I came to late that night, all I felt like eating was a little bowl of The Random Mother’s mashed potatoes.  (Excellent as always, making me miss the fresh version even more.)  Adding insult to injury, The Random Mother sent the turkey home with The Random Sibling, sending the succulent bird far, far from the reaches of influenza-tainted Yaks.  (Not that I felt well enough to eat it, but I probably would have tried.) 

I did obtain a modicum of revenge on Saturday, when I propped and medicated myself up long enough to breathe my germs all over LAX (Los Angeles International Airport Queue Zone, for the uninitiated) and the Airline-Which-Shall-Remain-Nameless (flight 1493, LAX to SMF) in order to get home and recover relapse in my own bed.  (Note: I probably find this satisfying because I’m fairly certain someone gave The Virus to me on the flight down, and you all know I’m a sharing kind of Yak.)  The Random Mother kept Yak the Younger at her house, arguably for an “extended visit” but probably attempting to insulate him from The Virus That Ate Thanksgiving.  (For the record: it didn’t work.  He got it three days later.) 

The lesson from all of this, of course, is simple:  The Virus That Ate Thanksgiving is nasty, and I hope I never lose another holiday to the killer flu.

But I still won’t take a flu shot.

Trackposted to Pirate’s Cove, Perri Nelson’s Website, third world county, The Crazy Rants of Samantha Burns, and Adam’s Blog, thanks to Linkfest Haven Deluxe.