I either need to feel better, or worse.

See, typically when one gets sick, one is supposed to feel totally brain-fogged – too drowsy and zonked out to notice that life is passing by. Because right now, aside from some slight body aches and a sore throat that imperils tomorrow’s choir concert, I am totally fine. And therefore sentient enough to experience the impotent rage that comes from being a brain in an ailing body.

I’ve been doing the random sniffling/coughing thing all week, but that’s to be expected when it’s misty-drizzly, windy and otherwise coldifying. Somewhere between the burritos K-Cup and I got at Chipotle and the seats we claimed at the Union Square movie theater after visiting the Cupcake Cafe, I Got Sick. We got home after The Fantastic Mr. Fox (which was awesome but I need to see again because I slept through the middle 1/3) and I curled up in bed with my netflix and felt The Sickness creep up on me. By the time I got to sleep my throat was scratchy and swallowing was difficult, and when I woke up it was worse. I sounded like a baritone in the shower. I did some cautious warm-ups while sucking back ramen broth and tea, whipped out my Voice Major’s Box o’Throat-based Medicine and headed to our dress rehearsal.

Where I was ordered by a doctor in the soprano section not to talk for the next 24 hours.

I don’t know if you guys haven noticed, but I’m like, a Very Vocal Verbal Person. My blog looks like this because I think and talk like this. (You know how in The King And I , the King’s wives thought Mrs. Anna was shaped like a bell because of her dress? Well, she wasn’t. But I basically am. Verbally. Shaped like this. This makes perfect sense in my head.)

I stopped by CVS to replenish the Voice Major’s Box o’Throat based medicine, wordlessly grumbling to myself that it was freaking difficult to find tissues in this stupid store especially given the current Major Crisis we’re all so afraid of (i.e. dying of the Swine Flu). I briefly drafted some lead-in copy for the nightly newscast after I, MKP, who had been effecting real change doing a year of service with a team of Do-Gooders, am struck down by the pandemic sweeping the nation.

Then I figured the people who die from H1N1 probably had other health issues. And set aside the teleprompter notes in favor of some Vicks dry cough medicine and mucinex.

K-Cup was good enough to accompany me on a Jay and Silent Bob style outing, on which my only link to the spoken world was the Cranium Doodlepad I grabbed in lieu of a notebook on our way to the corner diner. I asked the waitress, via scribbled note, for a giant bowl of chicken noodle soup and a vat of it to take home and some hot tea, and we proceeded to still be the most normal regulars in the corner diner. Our compatriots included a seriously old couple and a middle-aged me from the future (she came in dressed head to toe in Mets regalia, sat across from one of her ancient parents, delivered one invective-laced rant after another….it was enlightening), a woman whose dinner companion was hidden by a corner of the counter, so it looked like she was talking to herself, and another odd/old couple who didn’t say a word to eachother. K-Cup talked, I scribbled notes to be housed in future MKP touring exhibits, it was a good time.

* * * *

In other news, the old lady who caught me climbing over the back alley fence appears to have moved out, and in her place are some people who had the nerve to 1) throw themselves a housewarming party on a night I wanted to sleep early; B) renovate their place on a morning I wanted to sleep in; sixth and lastly) play guitar in the room directly above mine; and to conclude) SUCK.

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