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THE CLARITY OF SOBRIETY OBSCURED BY A COLD
Fuck I hate colds. I am bedeviled by them. I get them often - so often, in fact, that I am sadly used to them. Functioning with a cold has just become de rigeur. Why I am so prone to colds is of no great mystery. We all know that I spent years battering my immune system into sand by the use of drugs made from acetone and road flares and later from alcohol. I've also always been prone to respiratory problems, thanks to a chain-smoking mother who no doubt huffed one after another down while breastfeeding me. Then I moved to Korea, where apart from having to breathe in carcinogenic Chinese desert factory smoke dust and diesel fumes, I regularly teach children, who sneeze and cough in my face and smear their nasal mucous all over their textbooks which I subsequently handle. And the Continuing Education Center here at the college (where the kiddy classes take place) has NO SOAP in the bathrooms.
No soap.
The cheap baby eaters.
Despite the fact of rampant Peninsula-borne illness, I've yet to miss ONE class because of sickness in three and a half years of teaching. I've never canceled a class or called in sick since moving here. Not once. I believing in sharing my misery with others. And the Koreans wouldn't be having it, anyway. Sickness is not considered a valid reason to miss work or class. Rumor has it that a friend of mine once worked a language institute where a mother carried her sick kid, wearing a hospital gown, into class. She wasn't going to let little Min Ho miss his English lesson just because of a little chemotherapy. He was going to learn some English that day, and no childhood cancer or kidney disorder was going to stand in his way.
I actually blame this cold on my girlfriend. She got it first. She let me kiss her, so it's her fault. She made me all disease-y and will be lucky I talk to her again. At least for the next ten minutes as I bang out this missive.
The lame thing about this cold is that it has come around during one of the extremely rare periods of my life in which I'm abstaining from alcohol. Sam and I are both in the midst of a two-week sober streak. I actually cheated last Tuesday and supped two cans of Japanese beer in my new house to celebrate the move (quietly, with cats), but other than that I've touched nary a drop, and will continue until next Saturday. So while I've technically failed in my endeavor (I've made no bets nor solemn promises, so I'm okay), I feel I've been successful in the overall goal, which has been to stay sober.
But what good is a nice clear and energetic sober buzz when dampened by a nasty cold? How can I "get high on life" when I'm blowing tacky gobs of green sludge from my nose? Yesterday was Sunday and I'm usually horribly hung over on Sundays. If there's one day where you can guarantee a nuclear hangover for yours truly, it's Sunday. Now on Saturday night I didn't drink, despite playing a solo show at O'Briens (aaaaaaaaaah, I love cranberry juice), but on Sunday I STILL FELT LIKE SHIT because of this assey fucking cold. Such was my Easter.
Thankyou, Jesus, for pissing on my campfire.
No soap.
The cheap baby eaters.
Despite the fact of rampant Peninsula-borne illness, I've yet to miss ONE class because of sickness in three and a half years of teaching. I've never canceled a class or called in sick since moving here. Not once. I believing in sharing my misery with others. And the Koreans wouldn't be having it, anyway. Sickness is not considered a valid reason to miss work or class. Rumor has it that a friend of mine once worked a language institute where a mother carried her sick kid, wearing a hospital gown, into class. She wasn't going to let little Min Ho miss his English lesson just because of a little chemotherapy. He was going to learn some English that day, and no childhood cancer or kidney disorder was going to stand in his way.
I actually blame this cold on my girlfriend. She got it first. She let me kiss her, so it's her fault. She made me all disease-y and will be lucky I talk to her again. At least for the next ten minutes as I bang out this missive.
The lame thing about this cold is that it has come around during one of the extremely rare periods of my life in which I'm abstaining from alcohol. Sam and I are both in the midst of a two-week sober streak. I actually cheated last Tuesday and supped two cans of Japanese beer in my new house to celebrate the move (quietly, with cats), but other than that I've touched nary a drop, and will continue until next Saturday. So while I've technically failed in my endeavor (I've made no bets nor solemn promises, so I'm okay), I feel I've been successful in the overall goal, which has been to stay sober.
But what good is a nice clear and energetic sober buzz when dampened by a nasty cold? How can I "get high on life" when I'm blowing tacky gobs of green sludge from my nose? Yesterday was Sunday and I'm usually horribly hung over on Sundays. If there's one day where you can guarantee a nuclear hangover for yours truly, it's Sunday. Now on Saturday night I didn't drink, despite playing a solo show at O'Briens (aaaaaaaaaah, I love cranberry juice), but on Sunday I STILL FELT LIKE SHIT because of this assey fucking cold. Such was my Easter.
Thankyou, Jesus, for pissing on my campfire.