Sicker than a Dog

Photo Credit: Lawrenceville Suwanee Animal Hospital

So I’ve been sitting here thinking “I feel sicker than a dog.” Then I thought that I have never seen a dog as sick as I am so, being who I am even when I’m sick,” I googled “sicker than a dog origin.” All I really found was that

There are several expressions of the form sick as a …, that date from the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. Sick as a dog is actually the oldest of them, recorded from 1705; it is probably no more than an attempt to give force to a strongly worded statement of physical unhappiness.

Well, duh. I thought I’d find an interesting origin story, but all I found was that it means “a strongly worded statement of physical unhappiness.” Ok. I am sicker than a dog.

I thought I was feeling slightly better yesterday, as if–though still sick–I had turned a corner. No food seemed appealing but I made us some soup. We were almost out of fake NyQuil (the store brand), and we were all out of stuff to make a hot lemon drink with honey and ginger, and we didn’t have any frozen burritos–which EJ calls “bachelor chow.” We keep frozen burritos in the freezer for those days when, for whatever reason, we need a quick no-fuss meal; we can just throw a few in the oven. Anyway, I decided to go to the store to gather more provisions while I was feeling a slight upturn.

As soon as I turned the suburban onto the road, I thought, “I have no business driving” because I felt woozy and sluggish. It’s only a couple of miles to the grocery store, so I focused on keeping the sub between the lines of the road. I made it to the store, grabbed a small cart, and entered the store, and then I stood there for a minute and thought, “Why did I come to the store? What was I supposed to get? Who sent me?” I almost texted EJ to ask him what I was supposed to get, but then I remembered. I got a few other things too. Ground beef was on sale. I bought some paper towels. Cat food. And other things.

I took my small cart up to the cashier, and the bagger asked, “Paper or plastic?” They should know by now that we always want paper, shouldn’t they? But I dutifully said, “Paper” and then the bagger asked if I wanted help carrying out my groceries or if I would like my groceries in a bigger cart, and I just stood there while my mind sluggishly worked out the English meaning of the English words she was using. I finally told her that I could carry out my own groceries (thanks) but maybe I could use a bigger cart. So she got me one and I paid for my groceries, and I drove home, focusing on keeping the suburban between the lines in the road.

And the rest of the day I felt sicker than a dog.

But I still washed the dishes and did a couple loads of laundry. I did the laundry because EJ brought me a cup of fake NyQuil but he filled the little cup too full and some of it spilled on my soft fuzzy bear blanket and on my clothes. So I had to change and do laundry so I wouldn’t have fake NyQuil stains on my blanket and clothes.

I felt a little sorry for myself that when I get sick, I still have to go to the store, and wash dishes, and do some laundry, and take care of chickens and ducks, and make us hot meals and hot lemon drinks with honey and ginger. But I feel more sorry for poor EJ is sick too PLUS he has his aching back to deal with PLUS he has to go to work on Monday. Poor guy. We are trying to take care of each other. (Meanwhile, JJ is on the definite upswing. He went to the theater with a friend last night to watch Guardian of the Galaxy 2. They watched it on IMAX and 3D. He said it was awesome.)

I feel sicker than a dog, and keep coughing until I almost barf, and then I shiver with cold. Meanwhile, EJ says he feels hot and is “sweating like a pig.” I was determined not to look up the origin of “sweating like a pig,” but I did–of course I did–and it has a cooler origin story than “sicker than a dog”:

Pigs don’t sweat much, so they wallow in the mud to cool off their bodies. So how did the English language expression “sweating like a pig” develop? It’s actually a reference to pig iron, which is form of iron smelting:

When pig iron is originally created from iron ore, the smelter needs to heat the ore to extreme temperatures, and then move the liquid metal into the mold. Until the liquid cools, it can’t be safely moved, as the extremely hot metal is liable to spill, burning whatever it comes in contact with.

How does the smelter know when the metal is cool enough to transport? When the “pigs” “sweat.” As the metal cools, the air around it reaches the dew point, causing droplets to form on the metal’s surface.

 So there ya go.

EJ lay in his lazyboy yesterday with the fan pointed at him and I lay on the couch wrapped in granny’s quilt (until my fuzzy bear blanket was washed and dried), and we watched Netflix. We finished the series we were watching–The Travelers. It was only one season (so far?) and ended on a cliffhanger, which I groaned about. Then I went searching for another Netflix series. I noticed that Sherlock had new episodes so we watched two of them.

Today is probably going to be spent much like yesterday, although I’m not going to drive anywhere. I think I feel worse today than yesterday.

Oh, yesterday I ordered a child’s xylophone from Amazon for the chickens. This is how sick my mind is. Actually, we’ve been wanting to get one ever since we saw a video of chickens playing with one. We intended to get one at Goodwill, but all we could find is the battery operated keyboards. Anyway, stay tuned for my chickens’ recital. 🙂


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