I awoke on Sunday morning, and there was a twinge in the back of my throat. I knew exactly what it was as soon as I felt it, and I dreaded its presence immediately. I pressed on with my day: Garlic and eggs for breakfast, hoping and hoping; Parque Mexico with the dogs and the Spaniards; Several glasses of tea with brunch and lunch; finally at 5 I went home for a siesta. I was supposed to head out to an art show in Condesa, and when the skies ripped open, turning my kitchen into a shallow swimming pool, I took it as a sign to remain home. The rain and my illness were in a parallel: they grew stronger and more violent through the night.
I awoke at 6am, and I knew then that I was not going to school. I hastily made a sub plan, but the storm had knocked out the internet, so I had to ask Sarah to take it to school for me. I called the sub line, and since it was the first time I had spoken since the previous night, I audibly noticed how sick I sounded.
Today was spent on the couch. It was spent drinking water, water, tea, water, cereal, water, tea. I feel about the same as this morning, with a tightness in the chest, a sinus headache, and all of it is very much green.
At 1pm today I had to walk to the bank and deposit my very late rent money. As I walked, a local school had just gotten out. I, wearing my Norwegian beenie, my Trader Joe's sweatshirt, saggy Ben Davis pants, and my New Balance tennies, well I was a site to be gauked at. My foul mood permitted no mercy for these streetside punks. If I caught one of their eyes, I stared ominously, with the sort of blank intensity you see in celebrity mugshots. I hurried through the crowd, and as one ballsey little nino thought it sweet to whistle at me, I passed him abrubtly and whistled back, not much more was said as I proceeded in front of them on Insurgentes. A note: the whistle here is used continuosly, and with many applications. Sometimes, a hello, a celebration, other times a catcall or a mocking gesture. The whistle is alive and well down here--well, maybe not well, but definitely alive.
I paid rent, and made a long circuit to the grocery store. I bought some herbal throat coat, some peppermint tea, peaches, limes, and instant oatmeal. At the register I signed my debit card receipt in haste. The checker, a middle aged lady who was only doing her job, compared the signatures, and said that they did not match up. "Sweet Fucking Chritst!!!!" I showed her my other, American Debit card, and she said that didn't change how I signed it. From the bottom of my despair I mustered: "Por Favor, Senora!" It was a simple line, but I think it explained every ounce of my current health--she begrudgingly gave me my card and groceries.
Since then, I have sat on the couch and sweated. I just took a shower, and I read a school email. Basically their flu efforts are in full swing. If I go to the hospital tomorrow, and I have a confirmed flu case, well then I am not allowed back at school for 7 days. At the entrances of the school, they are taking temperatures of all entering students and staff; anyone outside of the normal range, will be quarantined to the nurse's office and sent home. Now this sounds all far more dramatic than it really is, but basically I don't see myself going to work tomorrow, even if I felt up to it. So I am hunkering down for the long haul. The dogs, who have slept the entire day in the living room with me, not whining once to go out, are saving my sanity. They periodically come to the couch, sit down, and let me stroke them for awhile; we are in the good fight together.
That being said, don't be alarmed, but in the grand narrative of this chronicle, this episode deserves an entry. So, send me your healthy vibes, and I will see you on the other side.
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