Let me introduce you to Bleary Eyes, who lives on Watership Down and may or may not be a rabbit, it’s hard to tell. Head twice the right size, eyes bulging and sightless, coat motheaten, can barely hop. Slime oozing from every orifice, and not long for this world, Bleary Eyes, who has myxomatosis, is a dead ringer for the Common Cold patient, and specifically for me last night as my nose couldn’t work out whether to pour litres of mucus on the sheets or down my throat, the latter producing sensations of strangulation which made sleep an unattainable fantasy.
Feeble coughing, necessitated by having a ball of barbed wire in my lung and not wanting to disturb it, merely brings a mass of partially-set gluey snot to larynx level from which it snaps back into the killing zone, or very occasionally fires it clean into the fan heater. Even Kleenex Person-size only absorbs a quarter of what emerges should you further inflame your nose by blowing it once. Fuck, here goes with the dishcloth.
No position is comfortable for the CC victim. Whose own nose-snorkelling noises like an old man drowning (too close to the truth, that, but it will serve) and coughing like a struggling sheep attacked with CS gas, combine with the awareness that the symptoms are getting worse and you may not make it to A&E before double pneumonia sets in.
It’s not bloody funny. No it isn’t. Shut up. It’s a cunt, that’s what it is.
Nominated by Komodo
