A Funny Thing Happened to Me on My Way to the Mailbox

When humor is a coping strategy for mental health, sometimes people miss the joke. Are some subjects simply not funny?

Alright. I keep miscounting. Today is Day 22 of my dance with Adenovirus. I checked it with the calendar. Thrice. Last week I announced on social media that I had been sick for 20 days, not 26, but both counts were wrong. I had announced the 11th day correctly. How I thought last week that I was sick for a month when it had been only two weeks…well, there’s no explanation for it. I was sick. I’m still sick. This bug will never end.

If you think I’m exaggerating, the doctor cheerfully explained the other day that some people get this virus for six weeks. He had the bedside manner of a grumpy cat. I seem to recall him hissing at me, too, but my memory hasn’t been at its best lately. If two weeks felt like a month with this thing, I can’t wait to hit week six. It will probably sound a bit like this:

Today is Day 989. I’m losing all hope. I thought I was well yesterday, so I stepped outside to get the mail. Butt now I’ve relapsed and will need to recuperate before attempting that again. It’s been at least seven years since I last went shopping for food. I’m thinking of eating the couch.