Whose woods these are, I think I know

(This was written at four AM Sunday morning while in some sort of fever-induced high-on-nyquil stupor. These posts ought to be an entertaining read later this week, for me…)

My favorite, FAVORITE part of sinus infections that slowly work their way down into hacking chest colds has to be the way my throat feels like I gargled a delightful cocktail of broken glass and drano. It is on fire, and I ran out of cough drops. I can barely breathe when horizontal and I can’t really sleep sitting up, so I haven’t slept well since… probably Wednesday night. I’m too hot ALL THE TIME but I don’t feel feverish and the apartment temperature gauge claims it’s 65. I’ve been waking up shaking, and hallucinating. This might be due to the sleep deprivation, or the oxygen deprivation, or possibly the nyquil. Maybe all three. Who knows?

When I lay down at three AM (because I’ve been catnapping for two days and the hacking cough isn’t helping) I only had a half-dose of nyquil left and was out of cough drops. By three thirty, I was tired of that and decided to get up and go get more cough drops at the very least, because it’s awful hard to sleep when you’re busy coughing up a lung. So I hauled my sorry sleep-deprived hallucinating ass to the nearest Walgreens, which isn’t 24 hours, nor was the CVS a little bit further down. I wound up pretty much saying “screw it” and drove to my old neighborhood because I know THAT Walgreens is 24 hours.

At this point my voice was gone, and my throat felt about ready to spontaneously combust. There was an endcap of cough drops right inside the door. I nearly fell to my knees, sobbing with joy. I tore into one bag and my single-minded focus that had served me so well to this point melted away. I wandered the store in search of Walgreen’s brand nyquil because I am broke and two dollars is two dollars.

I couldn’t remember my pin at the cash register. I stood there, staring off into space, and absently feeling sort of bad for the poor cashier who probably thought I was high. Hell, I probably *am* high. Or just really sick. I can’t tell the difference at this point. I went in a hot mess, without my hair done, looking like I’ve been hit by a truck, and unable to talk, and hallucinating. This is that “I haven’t slept in a couple days” sort of hallucinating where I’m seeing things out of the corners of my eyes and my perspective and vision keep screwing around with me. So I’m suddenly whipping around as I see things coming at me out of my peripheral vision that aren’t really there and feeling scared and like crying because I just want to sleep.

…So instead I came straight home with all of my medicine to blog about it. Mostly because my nerves are shot after nighttime driving in this sort of state, so I was hyper-alert and trying to focus so I didn’t drive into something. I’m sort of glad it was four AM and there wasn’t anyone else on the road, and I didn’t get pulled over. I’m pretty sure I followed all the rules of the road, though I was driving exactly or under the speed limit. There wasn’t any weaving that I noticed.

Hopefully now I can sleep and I won’t feel so hot and I will be able to stop seeing shit. Earlier my pillow was glowing, and it was scaring me because pillows shouldn’t glow blue, so I was looking for the glowstick, but the light was behind my eyes, probably from being on the computer into the wee hours. Hallucinations are scary and I’d like to stop, please.

I don’t know where the title came from. The poem just started going through my head when I got home.

Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

-Robert Frost
New Hampshire
1923

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