Here Comes Sickness

After 3 years of nothing, not even a cold, even i could not avoid the sickness, see it started on my little trip to Ef-El-A (think Lou Reed) when the I-mac woke up in bed tossing his cookies and daddio did the dirty work and got him to the bathroom and washed sheets and got him pretzels and made him toast and nursed him back to health in a day or two, not after much yakking though and i have to give the kid props cuz he's a champion puker, other than the first time he hit the toilet or the bucket every single time, i'm sure he inherited this trait from his old man who at one time was known to drink and eat mushrooms at a prodigious rate but never made a mess...

Then we came home and went to a Halloween party and late Saturday night Nick Disaster walked into his daddio's room and announced "i threw up" and once again the old man was up changing and washing sheets and building a make-shift bed in the bathroom for the little dude and then curled up on the nice hardwood floor right outside the door so he could make sure Nick D. was doing okay, a rather sleepless night but Nick Disaster is nothing if not resilient and after a few yuk-yuks he seemed to be okay and daddio made him toast and let him drink ginger ale and some Gatorade and soon all was well...

Then Frankenstorm threatened and here's hoping all yinz got through relatively unscathed and unharmed and still have houses to live in and El Kono nervously eyed his cluttered gutters and large leaning tree, calculating which way his house faced and where the wind was coming from and where said tree might go if knocked down by gales and then in a light rain he climbed a ladder and began cleaning the gutters he could get to and then contemplated hoping on the roof and doing even more but seeing as the rain was coming harder and Nick Disaster was curiously watching him through the window he figured he'd call it a day and go back to monitoring the Weather Channel and gauging the wind speed...

Needless to say not much happened here in the burgh except for endless rain but sometimes that happens anyway and it got El Kono thinking about the other time he rode out a hurricane (post coming not so soon) and then Tuesday he woke up and slowly started downhill, picking up speed until he was laid out flat, head pounding, legs weak, shivering, aching, about the only thing i wasn't doing was throwing up or shitting myself which got El Kono wondering if he was having some sort of nervous breakdown but alas he wrapped himself up and sweated in out and soon enough he was on his feet and moving around and almost eating...

Of course the real sickness came from 5 straight days of sobriety, a record around here of late, but the problem is when El Kono lays of his meds, and i think we all know that none of this is prescribed by anyone other than Dr. Kono, that his mind tends to get away from him, won't let him rest and so for the last two nights he was been up and pacing or laying on various pieces of furniture and staring at the ceiling or out windows, composed a book of short stories and a novel in his head, plotted his escape from the zombie apocalypse, has fretted about the state of the union, the state of  his bank account, has wondered how he ended up in this house in the suburbs, has had flashes of those times he calls BB and AB, before boyos and after boyos and sometimes he smiles like a fool and other times frets and counts every mistake and failure and he sometimes worries about the only way he knows how to stop it, though he's thinking maybe a strict regimen of Caucasians and the peace pipe might do, either way it's been a strange week even by El Kono standards... and now to switch tenses, i got horses to handicap.