I awoke this morning and followed the doctor’s orders. My normal pills, my antibiotics, my prescription strength ibuprofen, two Sudafed, a dollop of Robitussin, a few shots of a nasal spray, a puff of an inhaler, and I was all set to go to work.
This might not come as a surprise to you, but all that medicine put me in a funk. I felt like a layer of saran wrap has been pulled around my head. I stumbled over words and my eyes watered out of their desperation to close. I lost my appetite. I ate two flimsy pieces of rye bread with two slices of cheese for lunch. In the middle of my big, spacious, two-floor office that looks like a movie set is a huge spiraling staircase. I tripped down it, catching myself and managing to stay upright with with water from my mug sloshing over the sides. You would trip too if your legs felt weighed down and trapped in the same saran wrap that had started layering itself around your eyes.
Needless to say, it was not to best day for public speaking. I found myself downstairs in front of thirty Australian university students who were in New York on a trip to break into magazine journalism, I assume. They listened eagerly to the Arts and Entertainment Editor, Features Editor, and seemed bored by my job. I talked about being a publicist, mostly how it was a lot of work to sweet talk your own editorial staff, the producers, the marketing team, while still pushing forward with pitching, scheduling, and generating buzz. I made a joke or two and everyone laughed.
Back upstairs, it was nearing four o’clock. My limbs felt like jelly and my head was throbbing. My sinuses were so clogged that my left ear would periodically make a slight squeaking noise. I don’t know a lot about ears but I know they should not, under any circumstance, make noise. That is so counterintuitive it’s bizarre.
I made my way home through the thick soupy haze and crawled into bed. By six o’clock I was off in lala-land, dreaming about a world of xylophone ears and saran wrapped staircases.
