Nyquil is nothing to mess with.

I recently had a cold or sinus infection or some such thing that made sleeping into a very difficult task. Whenever this happens I reach for good ol' Nyquil and I sleep like a corpse. This time was a bit different for some reason and I still can't say why.

I am not one to pay particular attention to the dosage amounts. I just tip that jug over and swig until the urge to vomit overwhelms me which usually hits around the 4th or 5th gulp. Then I put it down, screw the top on tight and shake my head vigorously which is not within my control. I think they should put that warning on the label in fact because someone could get hurt if they aren't prepared and end up in a neck brace or traction and that's a whole set of problems I wouldn't trade a good coma like sleep for no matter how tired I was. Whiplash is serious people and so is Nyquil so use caution.

So I would settle into my bed with my dogs Riley and Mollie and prepare to pass out for as far as I was concerned could be about 2 weeks. I would pop in a movie and fluff my pillows after making sure tissues were readily available at my bedside. I started to notice that with only one eye open I was subconsciously fighting slumber. This was new. I'm not one to fight the Sandman because I am always tired. For some reason I wake up many times in the night and have a not-so restful sleep 99% of the time.

I had been taking my best friend in a bottle for about 3 nights but still woke up during the night in the throws of a coughing fit usually reserved for people who have been smokers for about 70 years. I would keep a bottle of water by my bed so I could calm this beast in a timely manner to avoid asphyxiation. This of course would cause me to be awakened by the urge to pee like never before at the unholy hour of about 3 a.m. I would stumble out of bed, somehow maneuver over the dog gate at my door, wobble to bathroom like a drunk after a good night out and turn on the light. Just before I would go, I would get this feeling of concern about whether I had actually woken up and made it to the toilet or if I was just dreaming and was about to wet the bed like a toddler... or a drunk after a good night out.

Now comes the part where you get to climb inside my brain once again. I sat there resisting until I could be sure I was actually perched atop my throne and not about to soil myself. Trying to figure out how I could know without a shadow of a doubt that it was safe to release the flood gates and commence evacuation. My logic may have been clouded by the nearly double dose I'm guessing I had consumed but it worked every time.

In our apartment we have no light switches, all pull strings. Now on a day to day basis I consider this to be an annoying thing as I stand below the spot I think the light is and wave my arms around like I'm at a rave so I can shed some light on the subject of not tripping over something and cracking my skull open in the dark. That's a mess I'm not interested in cleaning up. I convinced myself in my drunken stupor that if I were dreaming, our bathroom would clearly have had a switch in it and I distinctly recall the rave dance being even more difficult to execute in my state of Nyquil induced zombie sleep walking. Once that logic presented itself, there was no question I was all clear for take off.

Lucky for me my sick twisted mind didn't fail me in a pinch. I got through that cold and only washed my sheets when it was over to exorcise the demon germs. I never peed the bed the whole time so that's good news. Nyquil is still my favorite soft drink when I'm sick even though I seem to react a little differently to it these days, but now I know to look out! It's going to be a wild ride every time so I'm going to buckle up!

What's so funny about poops and farts, anyway?

I do not have a very scientific answer but it would suffice to say EVERYTHING! We were at the hospital today visiting my grandmother who recently suffered a heart attack and stroke when we heard a woman bellow over the loud speaker "Code gray in room 305" a few times and this started a trend for us that will last for generations I think. We all sat and speculated upon what a "Code gray" could be possibly. Some thought maybe gray was code for deceased and they were paging someone from the morgue to retrieve the gray but we have someone in our family who works in a hospital so instead of playing guessing games all day, my Aunt/Cousin texted the question to her husband for an answer that would not be purely from the bowels of our own imaginations. He quickly responded with something along the lines of "Security risk. Trying to give bodily harm." or some such nonsense and I thought how foolish that the color doesn't correspond in some logical way to the visuals of the situation. We then went perhaps too far with the subject for oh, I'd say the next few hours and I'm sure it will carry on.

We then texted him with more colors and forced him play along with our little game. "What's code purple teal and chartreuse? Is code silver a missing wig?" we all joked. We learned that "code blue" is death and "code pink" is possible baby abduction and so on and so forth. Take notice of my clever use of color above to add flair for visual appeal. My blog is nothing if not colorful and today I have taken that new levels! We went down to the cafeteria and got some snacks and sat down. Part way through our face stuffing we realized there was a foreign beverage in the middle of the table and I challenged my Uncle to taste and thought it may entice him to do so by my suggesting it might be Root Beer. It did not. Then from across the table, my Aunt/Cousin yells out "Code Brown" should mean that someone had abandoned a root beer. Now anyone with half a brain in their skull should be able to surmise that "Code Brown" would be far better used to describe a turd emergency of some kind and it is indeed code for, and I quote what the hospital working husband said here, "Someone shit themselves" Now that makes perfect sense. Way more then the gray code in my opinion. Then the cafeteria worker came to claim his soda and I handed it to him and said "Oh! So you are the code brown!" We got the joke. He did not.

The conversations I hold for the most part are infantile in nature by choice. I enjoy lightening the mood and living in a neighborhood at least a few blocks from Seriousville. My Aunt/cousin and I went to the family waiting room to wait for our turn to go sit and visit with grandma. I am generally a gassy person and I'm not shy about that fact because I don't have much choice in the matter. I have ulcerative colitis and Crohn's Disease so much of the last 18 years or so of my live I have been followed around by a green cloud much like the dust that is behind Pig Pen from the Peanuts. Poor Aunt/cousin fell victim to post-meal fart fest courtesy of me. My dad says I'm his desert flower and an uncle once said I let one that brought a tear to his eye. It was said once by a sister that I "...was over there farting like it was my job!" If that were an occupation, I would be a millionare! I was also asked quite often during relapse to go out on the porch when I needed to pass wind. Not something to be proud of but in some sick way I kind of am. I may live a just over the border of Freakin' Nuts Town??

Anyway, I did cut one and then giggled as is appropriate for the average 30 year old. My poor Aunt/cousin then yelped and said "EWWWWW! I tasted it like I took a puff off a fart hookah!" That struck me as very funny because immediately a mental picture began to get painted in mind. I imagined a wall with hoses poking through little holes and people standing on one side with some toot stench catching machine right by their butts just shoveling baked beans in their traps while some evil man stood on the other side of the wall convincing unsuspecting fools to take a long drag off the other end of the toot tube. That's how my brain works. I can't help it but the sick thing is I'm not alone because when I mentioned it to my aunt/cousin, she jumped right into my fantasy. She could see it too! This proves two things: I was not adopted and do indeed belong in this family of kooks! Second: I should not procreate and pass any of this on to another and adoption should be my only choice should I decide that by some delusion I am fit to mother anything!

I am amused by almost all bodily functions and of course the sounds produced by said functions. As long as I have to be sick with a chronic incurable disease, one that forces funny noises from nearly every orifice seems oddly appropriate to me. They called me the Fart Queen in high school and Belch Wench has been coined more recently. I almost had to leave work early one day when I witnessed the horse of one of our customers sneeze with such gusto he ripped one and the blast blew his tail right up in the air! It was better then anything I had seen even in a Ren and Stimpy cartoon and I laughed doubled over atop the 8ft step ladder I was holding onto for a solid 2 minutes and I still reenact that scene to this day to anyone stupid enough to listen to me talk and watch me contort my face to mimic a flatulent horse.

I even get a chuckle out of synonyms for the words "poop" and "fart". Anytime excrement or human waste is uttered I lose it. Appointments with my G.I (Gastro-intestinal) doctor are particularly hard for me to get through. For a feeble mind like mine, it's almost unbearable to be asked on such a regular basis the size, shape, color, frequency and consistency of bowel movements. It's just like filling out a mad lib. I want to be serious for my own health and well-being but to try to shock the pooper doctor would be fun for me.

As you can see, nothing is off limits for me and I will make fun of even myself. I figure you have to make lemonade out life even if sometimes it's a shit storm. Laughter is medicine as I've said before and we don't do enough of it. We all need to laugh until we pee a little every now and then just to get back on track. Get out there and wet your pants! You'll feel better. It's good for you.