Wednesday, February 04, 2009
I'm having a bad day.
I really just want to get into bed and have a solo pity party: bitey cat forbidden, valium optional, vodka mandatory.
Unfortunately, it doesn't work that way in journalism. I have another slew of interviews this afternoon, so I have to look pretty (fail: my bang has a cowlick today and is sticking out of my head at a 90 degree angle), act professional (fail: I'm going to go in sweatpants), and ask intelligent questions (fail: have you met me?).
I'm not feeling well. I think I high-kicked a little too vigorously in my cardio kick-boxing class on Monday, because I haven't felt right since. I almost passed out and puked my guts out in the class. It started with vague disorientation. We were doing a little punch-kick-jab-skip combo, and while everyone else was punch-kick-jab-skipping like warriors, I was doing jumping jacks. I'm not sure why. I confuse easily, but this seemed like a little much. MortalCombat and GinBucket laughed at me, and continued to punch-kick-jab-skip. I got a little dizzy and stopped my solo-jumping-jacks so I could get some water. Then I couldn't catch my breath so I sat down. Then I wanted to die, so I put my head between my knees for a while.
I'm usually a fit person (I know - this is all so new to me too), so this seemed weird. But I felt a little better after 10 minutes so I rejoined the class. To my immense pleasure, they were in the middle of a move that looked a lot like speed skating on the spot, but with Popeye arm movements. There's nothing I love more than looking like a tool, so I rejoined the class happily. After the Popeye arms, we transitioned into a move that can only be described as "the running man, but crouched over, and more skippy, plus Popeye arms." Heaven!
But I still didn't feel well when I got home, and I haven't felt right since.
I have asthma (I know. Of course I have asthma. I also wore glasses when I was a child and had knee braces to correct my wonky legs). I tend to forget that I have asthma until I have an asthma attack, and then I think I'm dying until someone reminds me that I have asthma. That person is usually FauxHawk.
ThePeach: I don't want to alarm you, but...I'm having congenital heart failure.
FauxHawk: It's your asthma.
ThePeach: I'm going to write out my Will, and I'd like you to ensure that my last wishes are kept.
FauxHawk: Take your inhaler.
ThePeach: I really don't think you're hearing me, here. I'm dying. I haven't slept in 3 nights because I can't catch my breath, I'm dizzy, my chest hurts, and I'm seeing a bright, inviting light everytime I close my eyes. Make your peace with me, I'll be leaving this earth soon.
FauxHawk: Take your inhaler.
ThePeach: I have asthma?
But this time, FauxHawk has been indisposed. He's having a busy week and we've hardly talked. So, I spent the last 3 days planning my funeral instead of inhaling a puff of ventolin.
And of course, when I did finally realize what was happening, I remembered that I ran out of ventolin 6 months ago and never bothered to refill the px. Because I forget that I have asthma.
FauxHawk: You're almost out of ventolin. You should refill that prescription.
ThePeach: I don't have asthma.
FauxHawk: Just go to the doctor.
ThePeach: Back off, mothafucka!
FauxHawk: You're going to regret this when you have your next asthma attack.
ThePeach: You're going to regret it when I asthma-attack YOUR ASS.
Ok. I regret my choice. I REGRET MY CHOICE!!! Because I NEED AN INHALER. RIGHT NOW. I'm wheezy, my chest is tight, I haven't slept in 3 nights because my heart is racing, and now I'm starting to get weepy because asthma is an exhausting little bitch to deal with. I'm like Piggy, from Lord of the Flies, except not quite as chubby.
I tried to go to the doctor's this morning, but they had a 2 hour wait so I left. Because I have to go do interviews. I have another appointment for tomorrow, but the prospect of one more sleepless night spent trying to catch my breath makes me want to sob.
And now I have to walk for 45 minutes in frigid winter weather to get downtown.
Worst. Day. Ever.
I just called Spaz to cry about it. I feel a little better. But I still might die today.
I'm going to leave her Milo in my Will.