I’ve had a cough since Thanksgiving. I have enough fluid in my lungs to support several Koi carp. Before you start writing in and reminding me about Jim Henson… I have been to the doctor. Many times. X -rays. Chest thumping. The whole bit. He diagnosed me as being  (his words written directly on my chart) a “Great big sissy boy.”  I’m sure it sounds better in Latin.

He put me on steroids and it almost cleared up. I stopped taking the steroids and it came back. On the good side… I can now bench press 350. Now he has put me on the steroids again and added an antibiotic to make sure nothing funky is growing inside me. I think the only thing actually growing inside me is the dawning realization that I am not 30 anymore and my parts are wearing down a bit. (Though I would like SOME small part of me to be funky.)

I used to be Wolverine. Get a cut? Wait fifteen minutes and it’s gone. Get a cold? Sneeze three times and don’t call me in the morning. My pristine body and guts are a thing of the past, I fear. I can live with that. In fact… I’m counting on it.

It has made it hard to be the creative machine I like to be. Writing is hard when every other word out of my mouth is the sound a panda makes when you step on one. I have had to sing many, many shows over the last two months and I am amazed I got through them. Interesting factoid: There are certain vowel sounds that make you cough whereas others don’t. I would be singing merrily along and suddenly I go to sing a word that has an “O” vowel sound… and up comes Senor Loogie. “E?” “A?” Not a problem. Apparently “O” vowels have sharp edges.

Don’t cry for me, Argentina. I was suppose to be immortal. I’m pretty sure with the help of these fine pharmaceuticals I will be again. I am better today than I was yesterday. I will be better tomorrow. A little backslide on the third day. The fourth day I’m gonna go ahead and write it off. That will be a bad one. But the next three days in a row will be terrific.

And then I will be well.