Day 11

 

    And here we are. 

    I have missed the last day of school, check out, my anniversary, Memorial Day weekend, 2,000 hours of sleep and my yearly ritual of cleaning so I can begin summer.

    It's Tuesday, 30 May. 

    I am not getting better. In some moments, I'm getting worse, but "better" is a kid with a dripping ice cream cone just out of reach of me, clawing my way out of the sewer. I feel "better" so I drive to school to complete my checkout, which I promised to do when I did not go back last week. I have an overdeveloped sense of responsibility. I almost wrecked my car twice en route due to a coughing fit followed by a moment of grey out. Done out of responsibility because I said I would. I am NOT that important, and neither are my keys or badge. Yet there I was, obediently following through as I said I was like every fucking hateful white Christian girl ever.

    So I got to the school and pretty much threw my keys and badge because I'm coming back next year, WHY DO I HAVE TO TURN THIS STUFF IN IT'S STUPID?!!!! They literally couldn't wait.

    We've entered anger. I am pissed AF that I am this sick. I am always sick at the end of the school year, that's enough to make me grumpy. Last year I actually got Covid, interrupting TWO rehearsals I had going on as well as the end of the year at school.

    What's particularly unnerving, is that I've had Covid twice in 12 months, and now this...unidentified, unending "bronchial virus" that waxes and wanes with sinus and ear pressure. The crazy pained abs are expected with this cough, but I have coughed/choked so intensely that twice this week I almost lost consciousness.

    Watching Breaking Bad was fun, but with the sinus issue The Meg is a better choice. Underwater. Can't hear anything, anyway.

    And I have laryngitis. I cannot speak. I can squeak. I can rasp. 

    Really?

    So I'm mad.

    Let's see what tomorrow brings.

Bronchial Viruses Are Fun Because...

 

        You have been coughing non stop for two days. You are a female who has given birth, you are north of 55 years old and running out of laundry. You sat in your car the afternoon before so you wouldn't disturb the house hold-which is your husband, three dogs and a cat- with your massive, relentless coughing. It comes out of nowhere without warning, and does not stop. It feels like there's a tickle in your throat that you're trying to work out, but there is not. You know this because you have coughed hard enough to throw up several times and it does not abate.

    You wonder if your eyeballs are going pop out.

    You cannot control your bladder.

    This is the most embarrassing part that you will do anything to hide from your loving partner of 34 years. As you've not had a period in a year, there are no products in your house, and you are not Door Dashing Depends.

    So you hide in your car, in your driveway, under the guise of "disturbing the household" .You order Door Dash Delsyum because you can't go to the grocery store, even though you are in your car. You would find this hilarious if you could stop coughing.

    An hour into your driveway adventure, and half an hour after videotaping the door dasher bringing cough medicine to you in your car to amuse your friend, you fall asleep. Until you start coughing again. You realize this is more than a polite Poise moment, and the Depends would be best for the deluge. Without them, a towel will have to suffice. 

    Day 3

    You feel good-ish for a minute and realize the dog and cat fur are not helping. You can't move much without coughing, but you must do something about the cat box. It is also not helping. In a show of superhuman strength against increasingly sore abdominal muscles,you pick it up, haul it down the stairs inducing another coughing fit, hope you fall down the stairs and die because death is easy. You do not fall, so you continue to the driveway. Now. You are coughing so hard you cannot breathe. Even if you could, you lost your voice two days ago. You are in what remains of sweats and a t shirt you've had on for a day.

    You smell.

    As you are hacking and dumping the cat box into your trash can at the top of your driveway, two handsome young men with clipboards begin to walk toward you.

    This is one of many times in your life you wonder when we stopped "reading the room".

    "Are you the homeowner?" He asks with a smile.

    You are too sick to be clever, you're just annoyed. "Yes, and I'm sick as fuck so back off friend." Your voice sounds like it's coming through a garbage disposal direct from hell.

    Seemingly surprised that you are not at your Sunday best, his smile falters only a moment and he continues to move toward you. "Yes, I hear it in your voice."

    You shake your head in disbelief and wave him off. The energy you had to muster to speak plus the litter dust has now taken you out of any possible human interaction. You look at the young man and see fear in his eye as he backs off. Took him long enough. You start coughing again as you go back inside, the kind of cough that shatters ears and rattles ancestors.     

    First your ribs hurt a bit, then your stomach, then you wake yourself coughing at a strange angle and are sure something snapped in your sternum.

    Day four.

    Three Covid tests say you do not have Covid. The fog horn tone of your thrashed voice makes you conclude it's bronchitis. As you are not a medical doctor, but have diagnosed yourself and your children correctly many times, you know you have bronchitis.

    While changing the sheets, you note blood on your pillow case. Something triggers in your dehydrated brain and your remember you had a bloody nose with this "bronchial virus" a few days ago.

    It has now been five days. Time has no meaning.

    The petulant child doctor at urgent care insists it's a virus, not bronchitis, so no antibiotics. No treatment other than steroids, cough medicine and "hydrate". Which the male child doctor shows no hint of understanding that is not going happen. It's now been five days and you are out of laundry, and cannot go to the store for any reinforcements without frightening the patrons with your Vincent D'Onofrio Men in Black impression and you fear the lovely King Soopers woman who mops the floor will have to follow you.

    Sometime between coughing and peeing and sleeping, in the worst of it, you text your friends a photo of you singing at Red Rocks in 1983 for graduation. You write "In case I die today, here is proof I sang at Red Rocks." They reply:

    S: Don't die. I've got a full day.

    E:Your death is important to us. Please stay on the line...

    You are not a pleasant sick person. You can only be a victim for so long before you become angry. Day five is the day this happens. You look back on how you growled at the young man on day two and realize you were also angry then, but that's on him. Read the room, dude. The only solution is to build a fort in the bedroom and hide. But the dogs think it's a game and make you angry. So you have to punch them. Read the room, buddy. 

    The dogs think it's a jumping punching game, so now you've no choice but to put them outside and hope they run away.

    You sleep for twelve more days, and when you get up it's only been seven days since this nightmare began and the dogs are back.

    You've not had a period for a year, but apparently one can cough oneself backwards, out of menopause. Neat. Still no products for either issue. But a fun footnote.

    You woke up coughing after foolishly believing you could sleep on your stomach for the first time this century, only to definitely pull your sternum away from your body, which is not good and it upset the dog who is now whining. God you hate that dog.

    Your husband wakes up with a cough on day eight and you think, glory, we can be sick together! And on our anniversary, how fortuitous. He sleeps in for two hours and gets up just fine, mows the lawn, washes the cars. It's fine, he's fine. He kicked it. Happy anniversary.

    That night, you are cloistered in the bathroom at two a.m. not coughing so much as choking and gagging and gasping for air.  The hot shower is of little comfort. You think "This is how I die" and lie down on the shower floor.

    There remains no choice but to request bladder control products from the "Dear God I'm 80" section of the grocery store. However, you cannot go yourself, you cannot ask your husband and you cannot Door Dash because that's more humiliating than asking the man you've been married to for 34 years. And somehow more humiliating than coughing up your lungs inside your car, parked in your own driveway, sitting on a towel accepting  Door Dash Delsym through the window. And so concludes the concept of that "choice".

    It is day eight. There will not be a day nine.

Things I Learned By Subbing In My Building

 

    I have to run kids out of the performing arts hallway constantly. I assumed it was because we have nooks and crannies, and the guitar and piano kids let their friends in the farcical number of doors we have. After subbing, I realize kids do that everywhere in the building. They hide in doorways and bathrooms.

    I now know why we have no attendance at our performing arts events. They're not coming to class in general, and can't still still/stay off their phones when they do.

    Kids in science and math have everything on google classroom. They aren't doing it.

    First period kids aren't coming to class.

    Sheltered classes don't respond to subs, or do their work, or seem to care about much outside of sleeping, listening to music or snacking. 

     The freshmen are really terrible. As a group. Terrible.

     Nobody has their classroom bathroom pass any more. We've all had them stolen or lost so many times we've stopped asking for replacements.

     Performing Arts classes are being used as a dumping ground. These kids don't want to be in school, period; I'm seeing them---or not seeing them---in other classes, checked out, doing nothing.

    IB science kids don't work much, either, but they're quiet and respectful and work a little bit.

    The blank stares are building wide. The lethargy, lack of engagement and seeming loss of hope.

    Two boys are taping their sleeping friend's hat to his head.

    You could argue this is what they do for subs, it's just 'cause you're subbing, but when I have a sub, I leave instructions for them to Do Things Live in class, and most of them do it. Most of them. Not all. The Usual Suspects Who Do Not Care are immovable.

    Most kids are polite about being dicks. They ask to to go the bathroom and do not return. They quietly Do Not work. But they're nice about it. That's the title of my autobiography The Kids Are Polite About Being Dicks.

Father 's Day A Short Play

    The setting is the interior of a two story house, deliberately made to look like a "converted posset mill", or other farce inspired interior. In that vein, there are four doors upstairs and four doors downstairs, SR that leads to the kitchen and through to a wrap around deck outside. This is a nice, Colorado home with delightful outdoor living space that we never see in the play.

    Sun is shining through the windows, BEA is descending the stairs. She is a woman (or man identifying as a women, or a drag queen) in her mid fifties. She is carrying a large, blue and orange glass peacock. Frank is never seen, only heard from the deck where he is grilling.

                                                   BEA

               Frank , this was from Eric, right? He's coming over I should put it out. She holds it aloft. FRANK is not on stage and clearly cannot see what she is holding, but she pretends that he can.

                                                  FRANK

        Voice from off  No, that was a white elephant three Christmases ago. You stole it from your sister at the end of the night.

                                                BEA

                                Why would I do that?

                                                FRANK voice

                                You liked it.

                                                BEA

           Bea turns the peacock over in her hands. Why? turns it upside down. Oh I see now.             Ok I think I'll still put it out. As she reaches the bottom stair, the door opens and her           son ERIC  enters. He is in full drag and is stunning, this is not a gag. He is a                     professional. He has a full mustache and beard that are trimmed to perfection, and                 long strawberry blonde hair. 

                                                ERIC

                    Happy Mother's Day! He crosses to kiss her cheek.

                                                BEA

                                 It's father's day.

                                                ERIC

                    Of course it is. Yelling toward the deck Happy Father's Day Dad!

                                            FRANK

                                    Thank you!    

                                               ERIC

                                    What time is my sister expected.

                                                BEA

                            They should be here shortly.

                                                    ERIC

                  SHE should be here shortly. Why do you enable that? She's female.

                                                      BEA

                        Pauses and stares at Eric in a dress and makeup.

                                I dunno. Maybe I like them better.

                                                ERIC

                            Whatever who cares. Hands Bea a wrapped gift. Happy Birthday.

                                        BEA handing him the peacock .

                                    Merry Christmas.

                                        KAYLEN enters, yelling to the back deck.

                                HAPPY BIRTHDAY DAD!

                                        FRANK

                                    Thank you, Sweetie

               KAYLEN hands BEA a wrapped gift, identical in size to the one ERIC                             has given her.

             ERIC takes both gifts from BEA and puts them on the coffee table.

                                            ERIC

                            It's father's day, lameo, not his birthday.

                                            KAYLEN

   So you confiscated his gift because it's not the right day? I can give dad a present whenever I want: he's my dad. Yelling to the deck Dad, I gave mom your gift but Eric put it on the coffee table. Just so you know.

                                                BEA

                        He doesn't care. Wine? she crosses to the kitchen

                                            KAYLEN

  I have a great new drink recipe, it's called the Bees Knees. We have gin and lemon juice, right? I had it at the distillery in Lakewood, they brew their own gin.

                                                ERIC

                            Hence the title "Distillery", where they distill, not brew.

                                            FRANK voice from 

                            Don't bait your sibling, Eric.

                                            ERIC yelling

                            She's my sister dad, why do you enable her?

                                               BEA

        Stop it. Ok. I asked everyone over so I could tell you something.

                                                ERIC

                                    It's fathers day.

                                            KAYLEN

                            Why is it about you?

                                                BEA

        It's never about me. The only way to get you here was to dangle a holiday under your noses.

                                                ERIC

                                                Rude.

                                                BEA

        I'm retiring. I quit. I am going to live out the rest of my time here in the house with your father, doing whatever.

                                                FRANK

                I'm not retiring, I'll be at work, Bea. We talked about this.

                                                BEA

            I will be alone in this house, living out the rest of my life doing whatever, alone, while your father grills brats in perpetuity on the deck.

                                                FRANK

    I like my deck. I paid a lot of money to have this built the way I wanted it built. 

                                                KAYLEN

     Leave him alone, mom, he likes his deck. Let him live out there if he wants.

                                                BEA

    I was not suggesting...I don't care if he moves out there, it's not the point, why is everything a fight with you.

                                                ERIC

                    K. Neat. Stop. So why'd you need to tell us in person?

                                                BEA

                Because alone means alone, and it's time y'all moved out.

                                                 KAYLEN

                                I'm hardly ever here...

                                                    BEA

                                            You're 30.

                                                KAYLEN

                                                   I'm 29.

                                                    ERIC

                            I'm 29, dumbass, and I'm two years younger.

                                                   BEA

                        You're 30, I was there when you were born. 

                                                    FRANK

                            Lunch is ready, come on out!

                                                    BEA

                        We'll talk details over dad's brats. 

                                                    ERIC

                                Our last meal...

                                                    KAYLEN

                                    Why are you so dramatic?

                Bea exits through kitchen.

                                                   ERIC

                                It's your turn to tell her.

                                                KAYLEN

                                UGH. Why can't dad?

                                                    ERIC

                                He lives here, he does his part.

                                                KAYLEN

                          I haven't lived here since college.

                                                ERIC 

                        No , you came back after school and worked at that ad firm.

                                               KAYLEN

         For like ten minutes. It's not a pissing contest. Why is everything a competition with you?

                                                ERIC

                                            I like to win.

                                                KAYLEN

     Great, then you tell mom again that's she retired five years ago AND we don't live here

         ERIC puts his finger to his nose "nose goes"

                                                KAYLEN

                                        Great. Bite me.

                                                ERIC

        It's not my fault that thirty years of teaching and having you as daughter made her crazy.

                                                KAYLEN

                    She's not crazy, Ass Face. She's just locked into a party five years ago.

                                                ERIC

        Right. Which is completely sane. I stand corrected. Still holding his finger to his nose. It's your turn, girl.

                                                KAYLEN pulls his hair.

                                             Now I'll tell her. 

                                                   BEA

                                        Lunch is waiting!

                                        KAYLEN and ERIC

                                        Coming mom!

    

                                            Play