The Little Pink Pill

Last weekend I had a cold. I spent most of the weekend in a haze of Benadryl, Dayquil, Advil, and Robitussin. After all, I'd rather be in a drug-induced haze than be sick. And it wasn't a good drug-induced haze either.

Benadryl—I'll stick with that because it works best and makes you feel the worst—makes you feel like you are lost in a small bubble. You feel like napping. Constantly. But you can't nap all the time. Sometimes you have to do work. Sometimes you want to watch TV, or do anything to join the world of the living. But you can't. You get too tired to walk. Conversations drift away from you. Even grabbing the remote feels like so...much...work.

And for what? Is the torture of a dripping nose worse than being lost in a pink haze? Are watering eyes worse than slowly floating away from the rest of the world?

Well, in short, yes.

Nothing is worse than having to grab a tissue every thirty seconds. Nothing. Not broken limbs, not burns, not even death. The dripping. With something worse, you can understand why it knocks you out. Dripping feels so inconsequential. But it makes you unable to work, unable to play, unable to enjoy even TV. And worse, it makes you a social pariah. Step back and think of it in abstract terms:

"Sorry, I can't come to work today."
"Why?"
"Well, truth be told, there's liquid dripping out of my nose."
"Where's it coming from?"
"It seems to be some find of bodily fluid."
"That's gross. Stay home. I don't want whatever you've got."

Then there's the sneezing, the itchy watery eyes, the coughing. Everything makes you feel...communicable.

Really, what it all comes down to is snot. People don't like snot. They don't like their own snot, and they certainly don't like anybody else's. They will do anything to avoid it. They will even let you take time off work. And you—because you cannot avoid yourself—will sit at home and take Benadryl.