Today’s Daily Post has challenged us to write something using all of the colors of the rainbow. I will highlight the hues as we go along, so you don’t have to think too hard. It is, after all, Tuesday and there’s no point in overexerting ourselves. On a Tuesday of all days.
Exactly 16 days and 14 hours ago, after working a steady stream of 12 – 19 hour days for weeks, I developed what we in the industry call, Tour AIDS (this standing for the actual acronym of Acquired Immune Deficiency Syndrome, so settle down and un-bunch your panties. There is absolutely nothing offensive or political, or insensitive meant by this term, so chill), or TAIDS. TAIDS is an illness that everyone on a band/crew tour bus eventually gets due to living in an incubator-like, rolling submarine for weeks at a time. When one person gets sick, no matter what you do to protect yourself from the illness, it is going to be transferred to you via uncourteous open mouth sneezes and coughs, aka germ transfusions, 2 – 8 people mistaking their own opened beers for the other’s beer, thus leading to bodily fluid exchange, or just plain old immune system breakdown aka, occupational exposure.
As usual, my first day off from the vigorous schedule, my body knew it was ok to let loose and relax. And so did my brain, which took over and force dressed me into my, now infamous, sparkly purple/violet disco pants and I headed out to meet some friends for dinner.
While riding the green line to Södermalm, I realized something was off. My throat started to feel raw, and I felt a bit feverish. That’s how the TAIDS hits…fast and vicious. There’s only one thing that could help in this situation. All would be right once I jumped off the tube and lit up one of my sweet, sweet poison sticks. Once I saw the fiery orange glow of precious tobacco and other crap, and felt the blessed nicotine surge through my bloodstream, I would feel fabulous, just like my purple sparkly disco pants (worth a second mention).
But not this time…
I finished my poison stick and walked into the restaurant. I could feel the virus laughing at me as I put the blue napkin on my lap and took a sip of my beer, trying to pretend all was right with the world. Within the next 20 minutes, I had a full on fever and all of the aches and pains associated with getting hit by a train going 3 mph. Yeah, that’s right, 3 mph. It’s a train! It’s going to hurt getting hit by a train at any speed.
By the end of the meal, it was full-blown TAIDS. Alas, the demon illness had possessed my very core. I held my chest, and yelled in the ceiling’s general direction, “This is the big one! You hear that Elizabeth? I’m coming for ya, honey!” in the great words of Redd Foxx. My Swedish and French friends, having no idea what the hell I was talking about, sort of chuckled in an extremely, “we have no idea what that means and we think you are really weird” uncomfortable manner, and took a sip of their beers.
After dinner, I felt like shit. No wait. Worse than shit. What would be worse than shit? Explosive diarrhea. Yes.. I felt like explosive diarrhea. I jumped back on the green line, searched in my purse for my yellow Strepsils (my favorite flavor) and proceeded to figuratively die on the couch.
Three days later, I realized that I had not indulged in any of my sweet, sweet poison sticks. Due to this malicious ailment, I had been unable to partake in a habit that I loved for 23 years. Weird.
I decided to get a jump-start on one of my resolutions. No, not the resolution of mastering the entire Indigo Montoya rapier fight scene from The Princess Bride. Not yet anyway. Yes, folks, I’m talking about my yearly attempt to quit smoking. The same resolution I have been making for 8 years. Give up my most favorite vice. Cigarettes.
So 16 days and 14 hours later, I am still smoke free. It is still a struggle, and I’m not going to lie…I have never in my life felt more unhealthy than I do right now, but I’m told this is normal and as suspected, it blows. I’ve started a jar fund with all of the money I have saved, which is really the goal to not start again now. I will either buy a new rapier sword, or go to Vegas and see the Blue Man Group. I haven’t decided yet.
Booya. Roy G. Biv, out.
And just for the added over-dramatic effect , here’s a picture of a double rainbow I took last summer.
*** In case you’re still unclear, Roy G. Biv stands for Red, Orange, Yellow, Green, Blue, Indigo, Violet. The colors of the rainbow. You may now stop perplexing.