Plague.

Alright, I admit, fighting an airport plague is worth it when this is your destination.

Remember all that talk about airports and germs from my last post Airplane.?  Is it any big surprise that at some point during last week’s travels those nasty little creepers infiltrated my system?  It shouldn’t be. This happens literally EVERY TIME I FLY. We have theories on why I am the germ magnet I am. We believe this mostly circles around the fact that I stress myself the hell out trying to get everyone pulled together enough for traveling.  By the time I even enter an airport my immune defenses are nearly non existent due to my frazzled mental state. My other theory is that no matter how exhausted I am when I make it to my location I go straight in to vacation party mode. Last week that meant not even considering any sort of time change and partying all night with one of my cousins.  She and I both left our kids at home so I convinced her to drink with me at a brewery until last call and flirt with random other pregaming wedding guests. I may be a bad influence on her. She loves me anyway.

Was I shocked when I woke up the morning of the wedding not just hungover but also with the beginnings of some sort of illness?  No, I was in denial. I gave that wedding my damn all and did everything I could to get the most out of my time there. Not to mention I really did want to be there for the cousin getting married, so I ended up taking on responsibilities to help her out.  For instance since the wedding was outside in a public area I helped control traffic during family photos, preventing the many stoned people of this hippie town from photobombing. To that one lady who had to be a nasty witch about being asked to wait for like ten seconds: I am so sorry for whatever happened in your life that made you this way, but good lord you are an unpleasant person!  Seriously, there is always one.

Waking up the next morning congested with crackling in my left ear I knew that flying was going to be even more awesome than usual.  Probably just about as fun as it was last year going from LA to Seattle with a double ear infection. Let me tell you guys, freaking agony.  I mean the CIA could totally use this as a torture method. Non stop layovers from city to city, they’d have like a ninety nine percent success rate by the third flight.  Remember, there’s always one asshole guys. I pounded down the Sudafed and ibuprofen (and the Lorazepam, don’t forget the Lorazepam) and prepared myself for the worst.

Take off wasn’t too bad at least, I sat next to a family that was coming out to Atlanta to house hunt.  Dad was some sort of successful doctor so I figured they’d be looking around Buckhead or the northern suburbs.  I may have crushed Mom’s dreams when I told her they really didn’t want to live near midtown especially if planning to send kids to public school.  You know what, she crushed my self identity by telling me I don’t sound like I am from LA I sound like I’m from Atlanta. I think we’re even. She wanted her husband to have a short commute, yah good luck lady, Atlanta traffic, remember guys?

Anyway it was the landing that killed me.  My ear turned into a fiery sun demon with a vendetta against me.  I was pretty positive my eardrum was in the process of rupturing. The doctor moving to Atlanta was going to have to perform emergency surgery as we landed.  In no way did it help that Hartsfield Jackson was the target of one of those Atlanta rolling storms that lasts for thirty minutes but causes everything to come to a complete halt.  There was talk of diverting, then our freaking thrill seeking sadistic pilots were like, “Hell yah!!! Who’s ready for a wild ride? This landing is our bitch!!!” They came on the intercom in that calm put you to sleep pilot voice and said, “Uh, it looks like it’s going to be bumpy going into Atlanta folks.  We’ll be landing in about fifteen minutes.” Due to my ear fire and the death defying stunts of our pilots I have chosen to block the trauma of the following fifteen minutes out of my mind. After running out of the jet way (Yep, I figured out the name of the damn tunnel thing) screaming with tears streaming down my face I worked on finding my car.  Three hours later I was finally on my way home.

At this point I was clearly sick.  Fever chills took over my body and I could no longer breath through my nose.  The remainder of my week has been spent in a fog of illness. By Tuesday the ear fire had migrated to my throat and I was living off of Sudafed and ibuprofen.  My brain was no longer processing rational thought and my sleep schedule was a complete mess from the time change. I briefly considered going to the doctor but was pretty sure all they were going to tell me to do is rest.  You guys I have not “rested” in twelve and a half years. See, I’m one of those “involved” parents. Resting to me is hitting a comatose state at nine thirty at night and weeping silently into my third glass of wine.

Luckily for me this was a less life threatening situation than I originally predicted.  As of today I am actually breathing somewhat normally and I no longer seem to have a fever.  However it was no surprise when middle kid came in from the bus yesterday looking like crap. I can only assume that my entire family will fall victim to airport plague over the upcoming weekend.  Sigh, I should probably just go buy stock in Kleenex and Sudafed now.

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