Wheeze.

I’ve got a cough that would make you want to move two seats away. It is equal parts annoying and disgusting and I don’t blame anyone who doesn’t want to be in its midst. That said, I am hopeful that it lingers just long enough to keep people from wanting to sit with us on the plane. (Unless, of course, as m* reminded me, someoneĀ must sit with us because the flight is full. In that case, it will be terrifically uncomfortable and awkward to be coughing into a stranger’s lap. Luckily, traveling with a little kid has its perks — namely, getting to co-opt the half of his seat that his bony little butt doesn’t need. Two people, two seats. Nifty.)

I called my doctor today and, despite my wheezing and laryngitic voice, I think I sounded downright cheerful. I’m not sure why she prescribed me antibiotics over the phone, sight unseen, yet, there ya go. I’ve got a Z-pack in my hand and the hope for a less rumbly night than last. I have to say, though, that due to my lack of fever and my general perkiness, I suspect this bad boy is not bacterial, but what do I know. I know some people will argue the point, but I don’t think a potentially useless 5 days of Zithromax is gonna kill me. I probably take a round of antibiotics every three years. And, as I told my doctor on the phone this afternoon, I probably wouldn’t have even called her for this if I were not going out of town. I expected she’d call the script in and tell me what symptoms to look for before I decided to start taking it, but that’s not how it went. She seemed pretty adamant that I “get on it right away,” so, well, I did.

And now I wait and see if I stop sounding like an aging 3-pack-a-day smoker anytime soon. And in the meantime? Lots of painting, grading, and packing (oh my.)

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