So I caught whatever plague is making the rounds…
Could be a cold, could be the flu, could be the opening act of the next global pandemic.
Who knows anymore? These days every sniffle feels like it might be Patient Zero material which is always fun when you’re out and about.
Anyway, I dragged my diseased carcass inside, ran a hot bath thinking I’d soak the sickness out of my bones, and promptly passed out in the tub like some kind of fever dream 12 monkeys styled film casualty.
Thank god for tall legs, because they’re apparently the only thing standing between me and becoming a drowning statistic.
My knees hit the sides of the tub and kept my head above water while I was unconscious and fighting whatever biological warfare was happening in my bloodstream.
When I finally came to, the water had gone ice cold and I was so shrivelled up I looked like a raisin that had been left in the desert for six months.
Seriously, I caught a glimpse of myself and immediately thought of Ed Gein eyeing me up for his next home decor project.
(Mental note to self… Stop watching Netflix before bed. My subconscious doesn’t need that kind of inspiration while I’m fighting off death in a bathtub)
My fingers were so pruned they looked like they belonged to someone’s 90 year old grandmother who’d spent her entire life washing dishes.
But hey, I’m alive, I’m not a lampshade, and I didn’t accidentally become the inspiration for some future true crime documentary about the guy who drowned in his own bathtub while sick. (Which would be an interesting way to go…)
Since I’m clearly not meant to be productive today and neither are you if you’re reading this, let me suggest something way better than whatever mindless scrolling you were about to do…
Pick up Perimeter by M.A. Rothman. It’s basically what would happen if Jack Reacher was Mormon, had better moral strength, and got dropped into situations that make regular action thrillers look like children’s bedtime stories.
The main character is this guy Levi who’s built like a brick shithouse but has the kind of moral compass that actually points north. Fast paced, entertaining as hell, and the perfect antidote to whatever productivity guilt you’re carrying around today.
Anyways. It’s bed time before I start coughing up parts of my insides. Gross. I know.
Stephen Walker.
P.S. If you’re also fighting off whatever biological weapon is circulating this week, maybe avoid hot baths and Netflix serial killer documentaries. Just a thought.