I’ve been ill several times in my life but this is one of the most frustrating occasions because I’m pretty sure I know exactly how I contracted my illness. At the end of the previous week I left my flat at the same time as my neighbour, Roberto (not Alessandro as I thought for several months). He spent the 5 minute walk towards the station with me explaining that he’d been ill for days, then as we parted ways he shook my hand. Now, I’ve never been overly OCD but knowing someone’s flu covered hand has touched mine, made me extremely paranoid. So paranoid in fact, I diverted my route to the station to go via the pharmacy to purchase some of that hand sanitizer gel. I did so petrified of letting my hand touch any other part of my body, so was wafting it around like it was covered in dick sick. After this panic buy, I still contracted flu, which makes me think either that hand gel is a gimmick for idiots like myself or Roberto’s flu virus was quicker working than a 5 year old ADD sufferer on speed. I got ill in the least cool way ever; the cool ways being from snogging someone or playing paintball in the winter in old a t-shirt and shorts.
I was only a bit sick. The worst type of sick. If you’re fully ill, where you can’t eat or move then you can lie on a sofa watching action movies and masturbating without any sense of guilt. When you’re only under the weather you flit between wanting to be pro-active and wanting to do zero things. It’s the human equivalent of a semi-erect penis (if you catch my drift): if you had to get the job done you could, but you wouldn’t enjoy it or think you’ve done your best. Apologies for this slightly crass blog but I’ve been ill so leave me alone and bring me some soup.
I also made my first ever chicken soup that week. It tasted mainly of chicken stock.
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