Despite not eating as healthy as I should, and only working out when I am being chased (a thankfully rare event) I rarely get sick. Once or twice each year I'll catch a cold that slows me down for a few days. Last summer I was knocked on my back and nearly in the hospital by some sort of illness that reduced my voice to the sound of rusty lawn mower. I almost made it through this winter without getting sick, but with less than a day before the start of spring, I woke up with dull pain in the back of my throat, and went to sleep with my nostrils carrying out an evacuation that would make FEMA blush. Perhaps trying to prove that I am invincible to all germs, I went to work. As the day wore on I gradually felt worse, but it certainly was nothing to justify a sick day. Unfortunately I was out of cold medicine, and my girlfriend was kind enough to pick some up for me at the local grocery store.
Getting effective cold medicine in Minnesota is a process that few decide to undertake. In fact, it would be much easier for me to pick up some cocaine, a little marijuana, and few doses of heroin on the way from work to my car than it is for a law abiding citizen to get sudafed that does what it is supposed to do.
I don't know if I should blame an overly ambitious attorney general, the lack of anything to do in the quasi-suburbs of Minneapolis, or take the easy way out and blame the meth addicts who blow up houses as often as they blow their chances at doing anything positive with their lives, but when getting sudafed is harder than getting into Canada, I want to blame someone. For all I know, my girlfriend is now in a national registry of sinus pain sufferers. They have her name, drivers license number, and now the beginning of her history of buying cold medicine.
Big Brother, you don't have to watch, you can here me sneezing a mile away.
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