A little Gallows Humour

The change of seasons has been a right bitch for me this year.
I have a history of bronchial troubles in the autumn and there have been a few memorable years where I have come very close to meeting my maker but for one short gasp. This week has been in that same vein. I just run out of air.

Being a pharmaceutically enhanced being, I know that I am just lucky to still be alive.
Had I been born even 1 decade earlier I would not be around to rant. And the web would be a kinder, gentler place.
(hah)

I do not like people to see me when I am unwell. I especially do not like people to see me when I am suffering the aftermath of asthma crises, and typically I hole up in my bedroom where I can control my environment completely.
So.....

I am lying in bed trying to recover from 48 hours of breathlessness. This is exacerbated by having to unpack, and move my parents stuff around, day after day after day with no real help. Lots of dust, lots of emotion and lots of grunt work. I pretend to my parent it is the flu (since it is flu-like) and I spend 2 days in my room.
I can't sleep, I can't lie down, I just sort of hover in and out of wheezidom, with the head of my bed way up.
Finally, amazingly, I fall asleep.

I hear my father's voice but I know it cannot be him because he uses a walker and can barely maneveur flat surfaces these days and MY room is up a flight of stairs. I feel the bed dip down. I open one eye and see my dear old dad with two bottles of ginger ale. He has come to try to make me better. (awww) I am too wheezy to converse but I just nod and smile and nod out.

I open one eye and see him standing by my dresser. I have a walnut armoire. It is very nice. It opens to 5 short drawers on the left and two shelves on the right. It has 3 long drawers across the bottom. He is stroking the wood. THe matching bedtable sits winking at him. I see him glance from one to the other.
I wonder if this is another one of those weird dreams of mine.

Dad says: "Boy this sure is a nice dresser."
(it is crammed full of stuff. I am a clothes maniac.)
I mutter: "Yes it is a good one."

I fall back into my sleep state.
I hear drawers opening and closing. My UNDERWEAR drawers, thank you very much!
I open one eye and yes; there he is.
Dad stands transfixed, still longingly surveying the dresser.
"This sure is a nice dresser. It has everything I need in a dresser. Boy, I sure wish I could get myself a dresser like this."

I grab my control and put mu bed up.
I shake my head.
Nope, it is not a dream.
Dad is here and some ginger ale is beside me and I have a feeling he isn't going anywhere.

"Dad," I say, "Are you wanting this armoire? I can get Tom the handiman to help me bring it to your house."
"Oh sweetheart would you?"

So he left, I slept and got up early the next morning to empty the &^$%^@#@@#!@! armoire.
It was a bugger to move. Of course all the drawers came out for transport, but the frame structure is one 4 foot high and 3 foot wide bloody heavy piece.
And Tom took the lion's share of the weight but my end was still waaaay too heavy for my taste.

But hey. I got out of bed!
Still can't breathe too deeply and am just waiting for the Clinic to open to make sure I am not full of pleurisy but I am up.

And now you know where I get my subtle streak from.
(hah)

Whee! Go me!
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