I had some difficulty driving home last night. I had a pretty bad headache which I attributed to the fact that I had not eaten dinner and the sun had already set. Once I got home, the headache was joined by a peculiar feeling in or behind my nose. “I feel it,” I told Lynnette. “What?” she asked. “I feel it here,” I said, pointing to my forehead. “And here,” I continued, pointing to my nose. She gave me an ominous nod. It was the recognizable first stages of an oncoming illness. So I did what I always do: I launched a preemptive strike. I took two echinacea pills followed by two Comtrex “nighttime” pills.
It depends on my level of fatigue, but the Comtrex usually kicks in about half-an-hour after I take it. That left me enough time to watch the first half of an NCIS episode. Ziva David, strangely attractive. Maybe it’s the accent. Maybe it’s the Comtrex.
I had spoken to Lynnette earlier in the day and she said that while she still felt “junk,” she was less so than the day before. “Does this mean there will be more physical cuddling tonight?” I asked. There was a beat or two of silence at the other end of the phone. “Yes, I suppose,” she said. While I didn’t “chee huu” into the phone, I think I did pop out of my desk chair and fist pump a la a pre-scandal Tiger Woods.
When Lynnette FINALLY! came back to… the bedroom, she was carrying the iPad. Ever since we saw Les Miserables in theater a few weeks ago, she’s been in this thing where all she wants to watch is musicals. Okay, and Duck Dynasty and the Manti Te’o thing, too. But yeah, she saw Wicked last Friday night, and that bolstered her interest in musicals to the point where she evenly divides her time on the iPad between her reef and YouTube. So last night, she laid herself down in the bed and propped up the iPad on her tummy. I was already groggy with drugs by this point and she was going on about how some girl from American Idol should not be cast in Miss Saigon. “She’s not Vietnamese,” Lynnette said. “Neither was Lea Solonga,” I said. Lynnette’s eyes narrowed, but she did not answer. “You’re just a hater,” I said. Her middle finger emerged from the comforter.
I tried to get comfortable, but her staunch video-watching position precluded me from playing running my offense like I wanted to. Initially, I had committed to a smash-mouth running game with two tight ends. She wasn’t having it. I was flustered. I couldn’t make the adjustment.
Once she started watching clips of Miss Saigon, it became clear that my game plan wasn’t going work. I was so sleepy that the vocals of would-be whores didn’t bother me at all. Once I fell asleep, I didn’t wake until it was time for me to get ready for work. Not even Lynnette’s encore audio performance of The Texas Chainsaw Massacre cut into my Comtrex-induced slumber…
…when I finally did come out of it, my head was full of fur. I brushed my teeth with my eyes closed. I walked out of my room to get a tie with my eyes closed and that was a mistake because I nearly killed myself in tripping over Abby’s gate. I let out a caveman grunt because I wasn’t awaken enough to swear. I turned the light on and noticed that I had put a dent into one of the panels of the gate. Solid.
But I feel wonderful right now. I will have to stay late again. There’s a three-day weekend looming and I do not want to work during it. I’ve went to McDonald’s for a frappe. I will have a Coke with lunch. I should be able to get all those essays graded. And then? Only Aloha Friday and Lynnette’s snoring stand between me and three days of freedom.