word of the day: england
Why is it that whenever I get a cold I get nostalgic for childhood? Was I really that sick as a youthling? I don't understand how most of my memories are tied to the times when I was hacking up or blowing out body matter. Whether I felt, acted, or sounded like a sick pig, that's what I remember. Strange, I know.
In between sniffles I catch glimpses of my sixth birthday. I wore a yellow sweater with pink hearts. I don't think I sneezed all over the birthday cake, but it is plausible. And then there were all of those Christmases when I could have legitimately been cast as Rudolph if my grandparents decided to be secular and not portray the Nativity. And I honestly will not be able to forget the time in elementary school I stuffed my socks full of tissues because my pants didn't have pockets that day (yes, I was mocked, and yes, I might have been embarrassed enough to cry about it, but that's another story for another day).
But, to tell the truth, I've had fun when I've had colds. I think I can safely brag that I have the best foghorn/elephant/trumpet/brass band renditions out of anyone I know. Why? Because I practiced during recess, of course!
And who can forget my many Nyquil stories? Not I! I'm pretty sure everyone wants to drive with me when I'm DUI. Not to mention the horrid poetry I've written while under the influence of that horrid drug that tastes like licorice mixed with swamp monster bile.
Speaking of drugs, the fruity flavored cough syrup was my favorite. Cherry was nasty, grape was tolerable. But the orange stuff was great.
And what about all the times I went to voice lessons with a cold and couldn't even hear myself sing, but instead could only feel my face buzz and my nose tingle? My poor teacher, having to listen to me screech for those high B's and C's while sounding like a dying cat whose voice is constricted with the fur of rotting mice.
Sigh. Good times.
Maybe this is just weird, but all of those thoughts made me smile. Isn't it great that there is something good that can come out of everything? Like today, for instance. I was telling a friend (hi Jefferson!) about the fact that I would love to go to England one day. And that is when my face buzzed like a bumble bee was stuck up my nose. ENGLAND. Just look at all of those wonderful nasal consonants and sounds! And I can feel them when I speak! Honestly, talking is great, but feeling words in my cheeks and upper nasal cavities is a unique experience.
England. Just saying the word adds another memory to my stash.
Aren't colds fantastic?
In between sniffles I catch glimpses of my sixth birthday. I wore a yellow sweater with pink hearts. I don't think I sneezed all over the birthday cake, but it is plausible. And then there were all of those Christmases when I could have legitimately been cast as Rudolph if my grandparents decided to be secular and not portray the Nativity. And I honestly will not be able to forget the time in elementary school I stuffed my socks full of tissues because my pants didn't have pockets that day (yes, I was mocked, and yes, I might have been embarrassed enough to cry about it, but that's another story for another day).
But, to tell the truth, I've had fun when I've had colds. I think I can safely brag that I have the best foghorn/elephant/trumpet/brass band renditions out of anyone I know. Why? Because I practiced during recess, of course!
And who can forget my many Nyquil stories? Not I! I'm pretty sure everyone wants to drive with me when I'm DUI. Not to mention the horrid poetry I've written while under the influence of that horrid drug that tastes like licorice mixed with swamp monster bile.
Speaking of drugs, the fruity flavored cough syrup was my favorite. Cherry was nasty, grape was tolerable. But the orange stuff was great.
And what about all the times I went to voice lessons with a cold and couldn't even hear myself sing, but instead could only feel my face buzz and my nose tingle? My poor teacher, having to listen to me screech for those high B's and C's while sounding like a dying cat whose voice is constricted with the fur of rotting mice.
Sigh. Good times.
Maybe this is just weird, but all of those thoughts made me smile. Isn't it great that there is something good that can come out of everything? Like today, for instance. I was telling a friend (hi Jefferson!) about the fact that I would love to go to England one day. And that is when my face buzzed like a bumble bee was stuck up my nose. ENGLAND. Just look at all of those wonderful nasal consonants and sounds! And I can feel them when I speak! Honestly, talking is great, but feeling words in my cheeks and upper nasal cavities is a unique experience.
England. Just saying the word adds another memory to my stash.
Aren't colds fantastic?
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