The depths of Rockstar Writer's lungs

The result of Rockstar Writer's X-Ray revealed a stuffed animal living in his lungs.

Bronchitis. Asthma. Pneumonia. I could have one or all three of these. Likely it’s the first one, but my weeks of hard working and hard partying have finally caught up to me as it does every so often. It’s like my body says to me, “Fucking slow down now and place yourself on your couch with a copy of the latest cutting edge TV season DVD. And stay there until I say so.”

I’ve been sick since Christmas Day and I only know that because I suffered through the Detroit Lions versus New Orleans Saints game when I was visiting the folks in San Antonio(the Saints were playing in the Alamodome because of Hurricane Katrina). A night-long party binge resulted in my body feeling like I was a QB being blindsided by a 350 pound offensive line behemoth. Then I went had my mother’s yearly Christmas party to attend that night. Needless to say, if you could take a picture of my immune system at the time, it would look like one of those warnings the government requires plastered on boxes of smokes.

The next day I was sick and hungover AND had to visit about 20 different families that wanted to see me before I left for another year. My sense of obligation and codependent tendencies led me on the long cruel journey that was the longest Christmas Day EVER. It was as if Jesus himself was punishing me for one too many Christmas Eve martinis.

Anyways, the penance continues as I’ve been low-grade sick for nearly two months with my body turned into a factory for mucous of many colors (clear, green, yellow, brown) and consistencies (clumpy, viscous, sneeze induced explosions). It comes out of my nose and chest and anytime I breathe out too hard, I can feel it moving around in my lungs like that stuff the victims are covered with in Aliens.

I finally went into the doctor and he did the regular stuff, but when he finally used the stethoscope on me, he asked me if I had asthma. Not that I was aware, I replied. He informed me that my chest sounded like it belonged to a person with asthma. Fantastic!

A prescription for a puffer and one for antibiotics later, I made the decision to stay at home on Friday. Not really because I felt awful, but mostly to go to the hospital for my chest X-ray to ensure I wasn’t going to drown in my self-produced phlegm with a bout of pneumonia. So, here goes nothing.