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Posts Tagged ‘Disorders’

Dear Readers:

Many of you know someone who has or had the ‘Rona. I do too: Simon, lead singer and guitarist for Jesse’s Divide (a band I’ve mentioned too many times to count). He is finally on the mend, and he agreed to write about his experience (you know I love a good guest post). He thinks he got it during a visit to the grocery store. Here’s his story.

Stay healthy and active,
Beth

Simon (top right) chats with Rob (top left) and Nick (bottom) — the other members of Jesse’s Divide — while all are in captivity, and Simon is on the mend.

Hi Beth!

You asked me to describe to you my recent setback, as though you take a great interest in my pain. (Note from Beth to Simon: I wouldn’t say I’m interested in your pain. I’m interested in your story. I’m a journalist!)

I woke on Monday (April 6) feeling okay, but as the day went on, I started to develop hangover-type symptoms: light headache and a pain behind the eyes. Thought nothing more of it, and carried on as normal. That evening was when things took a turn. I started with a high temperature. My head was hot, my body was cold, and I was sweating and shaking constantly. I had no idea what was going on because I thought – “I don’t get ill; I’m too healthy.” (Note from Beth: Simon is vegan but could live on Oreos, apparently.)

Tuesday morning, I woke up looking as though I’d just stepped out of a swimming pool. Again, hot head, cold body, dripping in sweat. Decide to have a shower. As I clean the assets, I go lightheaded, lose my breath and collapse. I have to bang on the bath for someone; I can’t shout because I can’t catch my breath. My chest is tight and I’m like Miles Dyson during his death scene in “Terminator 2,” only holding a showerhead, not a detonator. Fortunately, my wife Aimee hears me and helps me out.

The day continues with an unbelievable headache (the worst I have ever had; it was like someone had inflated my head to bursting point, and people were screaming behind my eyes), shortness of breath, intermittent cough, and hot and cold sweats.

These symptoms didn’t ease off until Sunday, when I started to breathe normally again. Around Thursday I was forced to take some paracetamol. My wife, my mother and a doctor friend all insisted I had to. I’m stubborn when it comes to medication, but this really helped me to get back on my feet, and I should have listened to them sooner. (Note from Beth to Simon: YES. Remember this later.)

Now, the added bonuses: My dreams were messed up. I was in the “Tiger King” documentary at least twice, and a reccurring dream was of me situated in a familiar black void next to a house-sized steel-pressing machine. The machine would press and laser-cut bits of steel and throw them out to me. All these pieces would mould (Note from Beth: “Mold” for the Americans.) into each other through a portal containing a world of jigsaw-style steel parts. This happened every night.

Another joy of this was that I couldn’t keep down large quantities of water. If I had more than half a small glass, I’d have the runs! (Note from Beth: Delightful!)

ANNNNNNND, aside from my head, do you know what was the most painful part of my body through all this? My hips. MY HIPS! I mean – how?!?! I had to rub tiger balm on them every night. (Note from Beth: Tiger balm = Tiger King dreams.)

With a family around me and two young kids, I had to isolate from everyone and Aimee was following me around with disinfectant spray! (Note from Beth: I totally get it.) I couldn’t hold or go near my wife and kids for 12 days. That was unbelievably difficult.

So that’s my fight with the virus. By far the most debilitating thing I’ve been through. I’m on something like Day 13 now, and I’m still dizzy with a tight chest. The headache has gone, and I can walk about again!

I consider myself healthy, and I very rarely get ill, so I thought, I’m very unlikely to be affected by this.

Boy, was I wrong! It’s not something I’d wish on someone, but I’m grateful now that perhaps I’m somewhat immune. I have felt how it impacts the body, and for those in a more vulnerable physical position than me, it’s clear to see how it can take lives.

Please stay safe. Don’t be dicks.
Simon

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Y’all:

I’m losing it.

I’m losing my mind.

I don’t know what day it is. Most of the time I can’t remember what month it is.

I used the wrong version of your/you’re in a text. I corrected myself before sending, but still.

It’s that bad.

I’ve finished Netflix. All of it.

I don’t want to watch TV anymore.

I don’t want to read.

I don’t want to cook; I’ve made enough food to feed everyone within a five-mile radius.

Now I’m setting goals that seem unusual even for me.

Look:

  • Finish my Greatest Boy Band Songs Ever playlist.
  • Make sure it features no more than two songs per band and is in chronological order by band.
  • Learn the choreography to “Bye Bye Bye.”
  • Wonder what happened to Color Me Badd.
  • Do some actual research and discover some shocking behavior on the part of the worse-for-wear Bryan K. Abrams.
  • Google the zodiac sign for Micky Dolenz. (He’s a Pisces. Of course.)
  • Make an exception to Point 2 for One Direction because Harry Styles.
  • Write a fan letter to Harry Styles.
  • Cut off some of my hair to send to Harry Styles.
  • Consider therapy to identify why I would do either of the two things above.
  • Consider therapy to identify why I would do any of the things on this list, really.
MmmHMMM. Call me, Harry.

Dear GOD. Who am I?

Send help.

Sincerely,
Beth, owner of a jello mind

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Dear Reckitt Benckiser:

I really wish I had Loefflered up and bought your stock before Coronavirus came calling.

But I never felt the need to bathe in Lysol before.

Look. Listen. You can’t be too careful.

I’ve created an airlock downstairs. Everything coming into the house gets wiped down or sprayed.

The mail too.

Everything.

Even people.

Dominic came in after work. (Yes, he has a job at Publix. No, I’m not thrilled he is going. He informed me he needs the money to hang out “wit da boys.” He means online via Doom.)

Me (from the couch): Did you spray yourself?
Him (sighing): Yes.
Me: Even your back?
(Sound of a little baby spray)

So we are going through plenty of your product. And there is a shortage. You are aware. We all are aware.

I’m waiting patiently, but my supply can’t last forever, even though it seems like this pandemic will.

Wishing you a speedy resupplying process.

Your sanitizing sentry,
Beth

 

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Dear Dominic,

Please go outside, even if it is just on the porch. Or open your window. You need fresh air.

Your room is hot and smells like a hamster cage.

You haven’t worn a shirt in days.

Your posture is so awful that you look like a question mark.

You eat like a wild animal — a wild animal who only eats Pop-Tarts.

What’s worse is that you want to eat like this on my new desk: the kitchen table.

If this is what you’ve become in just a couple of weeks into confinement, I shudder to think what you will look like in a couple of months.

Please don’t turn feral.

I love you,
Mama

* Thanks, Nirvana.

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Dear Friends,

I basically keep this blog to amuse myself and you. As always, I give you permission to laugh at my expense. I hope this post makes you laugh as much as I did when it all happened.

Here’s the setup:

Eddie and I went to see Soul Asylum last night.

Side note: I always go early enough to see the openers. Local H is great; I highly recommend.

Anyway, after their set, Center Stage turned up the lights. Not such a great move. Lots of middle-aged folks out on a school night. (Many drinking shots, but that’s another story.)

I asked Eddie if we looked as old and used-up as so many of the people around us.

He looked horrified and practically yelled, “No!”

So I tried to take a photo of us to make sure.

So I tried again.

So clearly, Eddie is wrong, and I fit in well with the crowd.

I either take decent photos or really bad ones. This night was the night of the living dead, photo-wise. Apparently. No good would come of my attempts.

Y’all know I have no shame.

So I leaned into it.

Hard.

Does this angle make my lip look big?

Beth = Ghostface from “Scream”

Maybe if I find my light …

I started laughing.

And you know me: Once I start, I can’t stop.

I started doing that wheeze laugh I do. I laughed so hard I started crying.

I laugh-cried off all my (nickel-free) eye makeup. The people next to us moved. For real.

Once Soul Asylum started playing, I shuffled my dried-up husk of a body to the front.

Dave Pirner has some miles on him too, but he brought his A game.

Not as much energy as the gondolier guitarist, though.

One good thing about a show with lots of old people around: You can get close to the stage without worrying about compromising personal space. Or finding yourself in a mosh pit.

Soul Asylum played their new stuff plus all the hits. Of course. Including that song EVERYBODY knows.

It was a good show with good photos of everyone but me, apparently.

My loss is your gain.

Are you not entertained?

I know I was.

Love,
Your not-so-photogenic friend

* Look! A “Seinfeld” reference

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Dear Doctor,

Thank you for working with me to get to the root of my Hitch eye.

The verdict?

I’m allergic to nickel.

I prefer gold, silver and platinum anyway.

😉

I had narrowed my problem down to one of three eye shadows — my favorite, most expensive ones, of course.

All shimmery.

And what’s in shimmery eye shadows?

Nickel.

Ruh roh.

Your patch test proved it.

The patch test.

That medieval torture.

Testing for 36 different things.

On my back.

From a Friday morning to a Monday afternoon.

It was terrible.

And I knew I was allergic to something almost immediately because of the itching.

Itching on the top left.

That’s right.

Weird how I never had this problem before.

But, as you said, my body just had enough.

Hitch eye was its way of saying, “Stop that.”

I guess I’ll have to find some folks in the market for some bougie, nickel-filled eye shadow.

But now I know, so thank you.

Hope I don’t see you soon,
Beth

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Dear Student Sniffling in a Common Area:

I care about your well-being. I do. And because I care, I need to tell you to do something immediately:

Go blow your nose.

Oh my GOD — please. Sucking up your snot every 30 seconds is so annoying to hear. How is it not annoying to you to do it?

Really, you should take your clearly infirm backside home where you can be sick in peace.

If you MUST do homework in a common area where others are present, then at least have some awareness.

  • Keep tissues and hand sanitizer handy.
  • Drink plenty of fluids to recover quickly. (You have a water bottle, yet I haven’t seen you take a sip in the two hours I’ve been here.)
  • Take care of yourself.

There’s only one you, and you need to be in peak performance for the rest of the semester.

Get well soon,
Beth

Do this now.

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Dear Snails,

Thank you for giving of your slime to beautify mankind.

I was initially grossed out at your sacrifice.

After I saw this at CVS, I posted a pic with the caption, “Ew.”

Just EW.

Unlike your typical movement, the jokes came fast.

Others weighed in with testimonials.

So I decided to see for myself. It was indeed slimy. And cold.

The problem child has problem skin, so I suggested he try it with me.

He said he would if everyone else in the family would do it too.

He underestimated my powers of persuasion.

Snail mask, party of four

You can sense him seething through your secretion sheet.

Anyway. We waited 15 minutes.

Removed the mask. Rinsed. Examined the results.

Problem child reported no difference in his skin, and complained he could still smell and taste the sheet.

Adult male claimed to have softer skin and fewer wrinkles.

Youngest was happy to be included.

As for me, I have issues your ooze can’t aid. (Yes, I still have Hitch eye. I have a dermatologist appointment this week.)

Still, thanks for your service.

Yours in self care,
Beth

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Teen survives bad haircut
From Staff Reports

ATLANTA — Though he could not see through the fringe of hair, Dominic C., 15, resisted the idea of a haircut. Clearly, his trepidation was warranted, as the resulting cut nearly ruined his social and academic life, according to him. What masqueraded as barely any cut at all to those around him, was, in the teen’s opinion, the worst thing that could have happened to him. In his life. Ever.

“He asked me if he could stay home from school,” said Eddie C., the teen’s father. “I hope you told him ‘no’ in a hot second,” the teen’s mother replied when she heard.

Beth C. exhibited no sympathy for the teen’s plight. The heartless woman even was reported as telling Dominic C., “I don’t understand how you can want a haircut, but want no hair to be cut at the same time.”

The shattered teen tried everything to hide the effects of what he called, “the worst cut of my life.” First, he tried a ski mask. Then added a hoodie. Then enlisted both parents in a campaign to use various hair products to regain some sense of style — exactly what style was unclear, however.

“Listen,” Beth C. finally said to the aggrieved teen, “I don’t know what the problem is. It looks exactly the same to me as it did before.”

His mother had the audacity to show him a photo of that time in third grade when she cut her own bangs. She then claimed her situation was worse. “I had an inch of hair on my forehead!” she said. “Yours still hits your eyebrows.”

The teen recovered in time to be able to make it to school the next day. The family is accepting notes of sympathy from other parents of teens.

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Dear Organizers of the Atlanta Oddities and Curiosities Expo:

Thank you from the bottom of my freaky little heart. It’s like you planned the event just for me.

Taxidermy? Check.
Jewelry made from animal parts? Check.
Human sideshows? Check.

One of the first things I saw when I walked in (by myself of course because who’s going with me to this?) was this array:

I think my strange little heart skipped a beat.

Then I saw this:

Sadly, he was not for sale.

But creations featuring Ouija boards were.

I am not allowed to come home with occult material. I’m not even allowed to remind Eddie that we have a Ouija board in the house.

But I almost came home with this:

I decided against the leg. I’m ok with having things that might have been roadkill. But a giraffe is an unlikely candidate for that.

Instead, I bought a coyote face.

That’s right.

And I actually uttered this sentence:

How much is the face?

That was my only Buffalo Bill moment, I promise.

I didn’t buy the jars of teeth that looked like corn niblets.

I also passed up the pelts.

I even declined the dicks.

You know what I did buy? Mouse paw metal horns.

And a glow-in-the-dark necklace featuring a spiderweb.

Note: That’s quite a job title. Is there a degree in that? Or maybe a certificate?

I also bought some leggings.

The ones on the right will be my Murderino lure.

Sadly, I did not come home with an IV stand.

Or a sheep skin.

Or any of the many hot bearded and tattooed men in attendance. You couldn’t swing a (dead) cat in there without hitting one of those.

Note to self: If you find yourself single, don’t troll bars. Clearly, you’ll find life among the dead instead.

My potential Hinge pic!

Look, I know that photo isn’t as sexy as the glamour shots of someone’s monkey, but I do what I can.

Anyway, thank you for bringing this event to Atlanta. You’ve given me new ways to torture my family — just in time for the holidays.

All my love,
Beth

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