I don’t know how it got me, but man, Juancho is ill. Not so sick that I can’t get out of bed, just sick enough to wish I was back in bed. It might have been sparked by standing around in the rain on Saturday, eating crawdads like I was going to find a pearl inside one and slurping rum in celebration of a friend attaining her PhD.
Maybe it is the Southwest Florida condo cooties?
I’m going to try to throw a saddle on Trigger and ride it out of me later today, but I just don’t know.
I need to rest anyway since Mystery the Untameable Stallion aka Cupcake and I are heading north for our annual Spring adventure on Saturday. Being lost and miserable on rock or trail is exhausting and I can’t afford to be sick when I’m scavenging for grub worms and building a shelter out of wilted rhododendrons.
Got to run, I taste a loogie coming on…
Rest in bed, drink plenty of liquids and take aspirin, and read books. Who told you “riding it out” would work? Sounds like testosterone-driven nonsense if you ask me (which you didn’t but should have).
Sometimes a good sweat breaks the sick barrier doesn’t it?
Does it? Let me know. I think, actually, that heat might be what kills off the virus rather than sweat, as in a soak in a tub of hot water. Maybe it’s just women’s folklore vs. men’s?
Men don’t have folklore; we’re too busy with the Truth.
And after that statement… not ever having sex again.
Eat some mulberries. My woman’s intuition tells me that would be good for you.
The name “Sasquatch” is dismissing folklore and the name “lopo” is dismissing crazy; and now Juancho is regaling us with the testament of a good sweat.
Is it freaky Tuesday?
Ms. Moon is right, have some buggy mulberries.
And your auntienan who knows all says that your body is talking to you and you’d better listen up and do what it says or else you’ll end up like me. It says to take better care of it and lay off the celebrating until it’s ready for more abuse. In short: Go to bed and stop this nonsense.
Nonsense! Drink more rum!