What Sense Does YOUR Flu Make?

Some time ago, I recall promising to write a post about my experience with the flu. Don't worry, I'm not going to ruin your appetites by blogging about north or south-door emesis. But I do find it curious that when one has the flu, suddenly, the senses are at their peak performance. SIGHT:  Well, most of the senses, that is. I always find my eyesight is off when I'm down with the flu. My caretakers all resemble a methed-out Mrs. Edna Garrett from the Facts of Life. "Come on Joooooo, just take a little sip of this broooooth, it'll do you wooooondersssss." And, is it just my bedroom that the grim reaper lurks around in smacking his lips and checking his Timex? SMELL: Not much else is working right with the ol' bod, but you can smell your neighbor's raunchy odor-eaters from 10,000 paces. And that tiny speck of cat litter residing too close to the floorboard trim that the broom always seems to miss, smells like a moist-moldy, rendering truck. TASTE: Everything tastes like rusty nails. That life-saving liquid we normally refer to as water, is barely tolerable. And to actually have to chew something is like chewing and swallowing a mouthful of those stick-tight sandbur thingies that always got caught in our shoelaces as kids. SOUND: Every noise, even the noise a flake of dandruff makes when it falls, is amplified about 826 million decibals. When I am sick- I can hear colors. But only the primary ones. Yellow makes a screaching noise much like Mick Jagger, blue is the metal gurgling of a garbage disposal if you have let a fork drop down there, and red sounds like those annoying whistle straws that kids win at carnivals. TOUCH: It is my firm belief, that when one is down with the flu, each and every individual hair follicle on one's body, grows sensory neurons. The sensation of dust particles bouncing off my skin about sends me into pain orbit. A simple static electricity shock might as well be me licking a live 220 outlet- barely survivable. 

There you go, my tribute to the flu. I think it may have been more explicit had I actually written this while down with the bug, but I found myself unable to lift the 19-ton pencil over my shoulder to write, and the force with which my fingers were hitting the keys with the thumbtacs on top was just too much for me. So, I write this blog with vicarious attachment, as I watch my oldest son wince in pain as an air molecule bounces off his forehead. Poor thang!  Best go get him some broth.