Speaking Of . . . (Part Two)

And of course, coffee pairs particularly well with certain types of foods (most notably sweets), so there’s an added incentive, but the main reason I drink coffee in South Florida is:

#2 Coffee makes it easier to breath through the pollen

I’ve heard it said about Florida on more than one occasion that if you’re not allergic to something before you move here, just wait a while, you’ll be allergic to something soon enough.  And while my reaction to pollen is generally mild (a few less than ideal weeks mixed in with a few really bad days out of an entire year is my norm), there are times when the draggy feeling and difficulty breathing is countered particularly handily by a good cup of coffee, thereby saving me the trouble of taking medication.

Speaking Of . . . (Part One)

No, not girls, I talk about that subject a lot as it is . . . I meant coffee.

Once upon a time, I didn’t used to touch coffee at all; I just never cared for the idea of being a caffeine addict (a great number of them being numbered among my family and friends, you see), but things change.  I still don’t drink it every day (or even every week) as a rule, but two things about living in South Florida changed my mind on the subject of coffee:

1.  Coffee is almost a lifestyle in South Florida. 

With so many cultures coming together here, and almost all of them having some sort of coffee tradition, competition to make a great cup of coffee is as fierce as I’ve ever seen anywhere, and even where there’s no direction competition (Cuban coffee is a different animal than classic “American” coffee, for instance) the pressure to make the “best” coffee in the area keeps overall quality high.  I’ve yet to have a bad cup of coffee here, and some of the coffee I’ve had here has approached being works of art.

No Sense Skirting The Issue

So on Saturday I headed out to Johnny Rockets for a celebratory “I feel well enough to go out for something!” meal, and on the way back I walked past the Hooters and saw they were having some sort of “School Girl” day, where all the waitresses were dressed up in schoolgirl outfits instead of their usual fare.

Now, I like girls in short skirts, but I hardly like them enough to stop at a place and eat a meal I don’t need right after I’d just eaten somewhere else.

Which is why I only had coffee.

(In other words, I really am starting to feel better.)

Enough Of That

I still don’t feel one hundred percent, but I’m “workable” again, as my grandmother might say.  It’s been a long time since I’ve been hit this hard, and I hope at least somebody got a few chuckles and/or groans out of my little pirate vignette.  I know it was bad, but it seemed more interesting than writing day after day “Still sick.” 

Here’s a candle in hopes of a productive next week.

Pirates of Acetaminophen (Part Four)

And so it went . . . for days and nights without end.

I’d rest when I could, and when I did, I dreamt of tryin’ to keep count o’ the numbers that kept comin’ against us.  In me dreams they were so many that I’d use a different quill to keep tally dependin’ on if it be day or night, and I’d fret o’r the idea of mixin’ up me day quill with me night quill. 

I think it’s startin’ to slow now, and soon we’ll be able to make our repairs and be on our way again, but I’ve thought that afore and been wrong.

I pray I’m not wrong this time.

Pirates of Acetaminophen (Part Three)

We lost a lot of good lads in the first wave.

That wench Pollen never really closed, just kept circlin’ the ship with the Springtime and occasionally firin’ a round o’r the deck when she could.  She weren’t too discriminatin’ either, and soon a body could hardly breath for the pong off all her powder in the air.

We stood, and we fought, and we died until we could hardly stand no more,  but as bad as it were for us, we gave back worse than we took.  At last, through a rare clearin’ of the haze we could see we was the only ones left standin’.  Even the Springtime had pulled back, and we thought we might be past the worst of it.

Until we saw the next set of sails on the horizon . . .

Pirates of Acetaminophen (Part Two)

The lead ship didn’t look like much, just one of the hundreds that sail these water under the banner of the Cold Killers.  I’ve dealt with their like before.

Backin’ her up though was a smaller ship that I knew all too well:  the Springtime.  Now the Springtime be one of the prettiest ships I ever laid eyes on, but her captain, Captain Pollen, was a treacherous witch that’d lure you in with beauty, then order a full scale assault when your guard was down.  She was particularly fond of claimin’ the eyes and noses of her victims, but e’n so, she generally weren’t much worse than a nuisance once you knew how her game was played. 

Both ships were gainin’ and fired a dual salvo that shattered the mainmast in the luckiest shot I’d ever seen.

Lucky for them . . . less so for me.

We were already startin’ to slow, so I told the crew to prepare to repel borders . . .

Pirates of Acetaminophen (Part One)

Feels like I’ve be sailin’ these waters for just shy o’ forever, but it was only a week or so past I first saw the green sails on the horizon.

I’d seen them take down many a good ship afore me, but I’d hoped they’d have the sense to leave me be.  Honest merchant I may be, but ye can’t be sailin’ as long as I been and be that honest and still be much o’ a merchant.  I figured a warnin’ shot across their bow would be all it took for them to seek easier prey.

I figured wrong.

It’s Friday? Really?

“I’m getting . . . better!”

– Martin Brundle

(Yeah . . . that’s pretty much what it feels like too.)

For The Record

I have always objected to the stereotype than a male turns into “a big baby” when he’s sick; when I don’t feel well, my first instinct is almost always “to be left alone” until I feel better.  (This has provided hours of amusement with those girls that have shared my life who had the first instinct to want to “baby” me because that’s how they wanted to be treated when they were sick.) 

This time around however, as I evaluate my major accomplishment of the morning (sitting upright for more than a few moments), and consider my most important goal of the evening (sleeping through the night); this time, yes . . . I’m forced to concede certain baby parallels in this case.