It was great, I was supposed to write. Moz said this funny thing and I was reminded of that one night in high school when we drove around stealing Jesus fish off of people's cars and blasting "Every Day Is Like Sunday." Etc. Etc.
But, it didn't go down like that. I had the flu.
We drove down to Tim's parents house on Thursday, as we do every Thanksgiving. It's about an hour away from our place so I spent the time singing along to '80s ballads and trying to crack Tim up with my boss chair-dance moves. We got there early and helped them set up. We talked and stacked napkins with Turkeys on them. I poured candy into bowls like a pro. I was feeling a little off, run down maybe, but I figured it was just the normal type of allergy run-down that can happen this time of year.
After a couple of hours, it hit me. I felt like shit. I knew I'd caught the flu that Tim came back from Vegas with. (Insert lame 'what happens in Vegas should stay in Vegas' joke here.)
And, so we drove home. Before we'd even eaten Thanksgiving dinner. I didn't want to infect anyone; I just wanted to go to bed. I sang no songs on the way home. I spent the rest of the day alternately sleeping and watching football. I made lame feverish jokes. I feasted on water crackers and Gatorade.
Holiday my ass.
By Saturday, I was a bit better but not up for going to a concert. I was pissed off. Morrissey was supposed to be the end of my week of concerts. The grand finale. People are NOT SUPPOSED TO BE SICK DURING THANKSGIVING AND MOZ CONCERTS!!! Life is an unfair bucket of bullshit! Heaven knows I'm miserable now and other Morrissey quotes!
But, if there's one thing I'm good at (besides dropping my phone and always picking out the tights with the hole in them), it's being a patient kind of sick. I've never been accused of having robust health. I never even faked a sick day growing up because I had so many real sick days that I couldn't afford any more missed days in my attendance record. So, I know how to chill and let myself get better. I know how to turn my crazy brain off. I tried to let go, to just rest up and not worry about what I was missing.
I found another Morrissey lover to take the tickets off my hands. I stayed close to home all weekend, reading and watching bad movies. I got better by eating my weight in graham crackers and making Tim feel my forehead every five minutes. (I felt my sloth was validated when he'd say, "You still have fever," and bring me an Aleve.) I consoled myself by musing that if I had to miss one of the shows, this is the one I would've chosen. (I've seen Moz many times and, truth be told, I'm not that into the newest album.)
But, I still feel grossly, obnoxiously, disgustingly sorry for myself.
As of today I'm well enough to resume normal activities like walking the dog and doing the dishes. I'm well enough to write blogs where I whine that I was sick and try to get you guys to feel bad for me.
I'm well enough now to put on Viva Hate and pretend I'm at the show while eating pumpkin pie and pretending it's Thanksgiving with a single tear rolling down my cheek. But, I won't do that. I'm much too cool to do that! I'm much too calm and collected and 'roll-with-the-punches-y' to do something like that. I am zen up in this mother fucker.
Unless I catch something else between now and Christmas.
*photo by mightymightymatze.