But I Don’t Get Sick

I jinxed myself. I said I hadn’t been sick in I don’t remember how long, and then boom, I got sick. I was thinking how great it was that I hadn’t gotten sick when everyone else around me was getting sick. But I wasn’t sick, no, not me. I don’t get sick. Sick, sick, sick. I thought about it so much that the word must have been hovering over my head like a giant flashing neon invitation for the common cold germ to latch onto and then laugh its slimy way through my sinuses and down my throat to trample all over my immune system. Not only is it true that I am what I eat (right now I’m a giant red twizzler) but I’ve just proven I am what I think about.

How can this happen? I wash my hands. A lot! I always wipe the shopping cart handle with those handy sanitizer wipes they provide – unless the container is empty, then I pull my sleeves over my hands which can be tricky in a short sleeve t-shirt let me tell you, but do-able. (I really hate it when the container is empty.)

I elbow my way in and out of public entrances, hands tucked safely away, unless the door says “pull”. Then I have to stop and pull those sleeves over my hands again or wait until some crazy irresponsible fool comes along and carelessly grabs the handle with their bare just-looking-for-germs hands and opens the door so I can slide in just after them, but not too close that their germs can jump off them and land on me.  Ew, no, not that close. You can imagine how important it is to time it just right.  That reckless door opener is probably the same person who I watched go into a bathroom stall at the same time as me and then after – while I stood washing my hands with lots of soap and water and singing “happy birthday to me” in my head because singing that little ditty is exactly the right amount of time to be sure the germs are completely washed away – they saunter on out of the stall and then leave without washing their hands. Yep, they grab the bathroom door handle with exuberance while I cringe and gag and try not to scream after them “YOU DIRTY GERM BUCKET. GET BACK HERE AND WASH YOUR HANDS!”

I just don’t get it. I sleep eight hours a night regularly. I have no stress. I’m grateful for everything around me. I take just the right amount of vitamins, minerals, pro and pre biotic, nutrient dense natural extracts, herbs, and antioxidants. I even use virgin coconut oil and buy organic everything for crying out loud! I should not get sick.

I suppose life is like trying to balance cups of water on top of each other. One cup cannot overflow into the other or they’ll all over flow and come crashing down. I think that must have been what happened to me. Why I got sick. My PMS cup started to spill over the edge at the same time my worry cup was about to pour over into my things-I-need-to-get-accomplished cup and just at about that time I had to talk on the phone to an automated system to work out a technical glitch. Ever done that? Tried to communicate with a machine to fix another machine? Yep, my cups overflowed. And in that moment of weakness the evil cold virus pounced on me and took a hold of my throat – and my nose, and my aching joints and throbbing head. You son-of-a-Brit!

The only thing left for me to do now is to use all of my concentration mixed with heavy duty cold medication to visualize myself completely healthy, laughing even, while a team of buff, shirtless slightly sweaty but incredibly handsome men compliment me while they weed the garden and wash the windows and clean the house and pour me wine and massage my feet and tell me funny stories and feed me grapes chocolate and…shhhh, don’t talk, I don’t want to wake up. I’m starting to feel much better already.


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