This is my new "Give Me Strength" avatar. She's sort of rolling her eyes in a mute plea. Oy, what a day. I officially have bronchitis and the remnants of some kind of sinus infection, both of which have at least boiled up into enough virulence this time to warrant antibiotics and some cough syrup with the controlled substance in it, which I'm enjoined not to give to my friends. Needless to say, this (the bronchitis, not the controlled substance) is not helping my newfound slacker reputation with the boss. $10 says I get called to her office next week for a chat about going to therapy again.
The whole consult with the doctor, first to last, was a half hour, spent with the cute and delightful substitute covering for mine, who's on vacation or slacking off. The high point of my day was having my chest investigated with a stethoscope by Antonio Banderas's little brother. And me too sick to enjoy it, dammit. I discovered I actually have a credit with the the clinic, so the visit was already paid for. That was nice. The hour and a half wait at the pharmacy around the corner was not, but at least the drugs were generic and far less than I anticipated also. And I got to check out the new Balducci's up the street for a bit to kill time. It's already being picketed and I'm not all that impressed.
Either I've gotten really jaded about gourmet food markets, or I've gotten really jaded about gourmet food markets. And out of all of them—Zabar's, Whole Paycheck, Dean & Deluca, Balducci's—my two favorites are the Garden of Edens and the market at Grand Central. Chelsea Market could be a favorite too, if I were in that area more often. I like Whole Paycheck for the organics, but for veggies and imports and cheese, I don't think you can beat the Garden of Eden on 14th & 5th and the one on 3rd & 23rd isn't bad either. And the fishmarket at Grand Central is just beautiful. So I spread my germs around Balducci's, tried the Moro and blood oranges, and a sliver of the cranberry tart, and a piece of the Asiago Classico, all of it sadly wasted on me today. Everything tastes of sand, thanks to my nose. I bought a sinus-clearing curry and a chicken pot pie, living in hope that I will one day again have functioning taste-buds.
Thanks to the wait in the pharmacy (it would have been quicker to take the scrips home and fill them here), it had started to rain by the time I came out and I got stuck in rush hour. I took the L over to Union Square from 8th Ave, and ran into a new quartet in the station, from whom I bought a CD: the Supa Lowery Bros. On the way in, I'd been serenaded by a Tex-Mex guitar trio. On the way out we were panhandled by a one-legged man and a homeless woman guilting us with not having the love of Jesus in our hearts for one of his little children.
Thanks to my new-found and still fragile serene outlook on life (see New Year's post, below) I did not entirely lose my cool until my beautiful express train (all the way from 96th Street!) got shunted onto the local tracks because of switch problems and we were passed by two other express trains while I sat and hacked my guts out and people one by one moved away from the Typhoid Mary on the bench. Seriously, at one point, I really though I was going to hurl, Ricola and all. And we were only a couple of blocks from the station, which was really maddening. I almost broke out the codeine syrup and took a slug like a wino. That probably would have gotten me either the entire car to myself or a hatful of dollar bills. Must try it sometime.
Back to bed, to listen to my new CD, with the heating pad and a cheesy book. It would be bliss on a rainy night like this if I weren't so sick. G'night!
Comments