Down with the Sickness.

Valentine’s was celebrated in full the Friday before, but we still exchanged gifts and marked the actual day together — even if that just meant running errands across town. We’d already had such a good night that nothing was going to top it anyway.

That evening, because my brother was in town, we went over to my mother’s for dinner, drinks, and good times. Old stories resurfaced. New conversations started. We ate like we always do. Apparently, he had requested what has always been my favorite meal that my mom made when we were kids.

Somewhere before we left, something shifted in me. A little sickness crept in. At the time, I didn’t think much of it. Just a quick stomach glitch.

When we got home, Teegan and Yvette started packing for a trip to A&M. Big orientation. I wasn’t going — it was catered to one parent, and I was trying to build up my hours anyway.

Then the night happened.

I woke up with violent chills, freezing my ass off. I couldn’t get warm no matter what I did. And then it hit — my stomach. I was sick from both ends. All night. It felt like food poisoning, but I couldn’t think of anything I’d eaten that everyone else hadn’t, so I ruled that out.

Yvette found me on the couch the next morning and asked what I was doing there. I told her.

Sunday and Monday disappeared into crackers, toast, electrolytes, and regret. I left the house once — barely — just to grab drinks and supplies. Otherwise, I rotated between the bed and the couch like a defeated man.

I watched the entire first season of Pluribus. Nine hours I was more than happy to spend thinking about something other than how bad I felt.

The house was quiet. Lonely, sure — but quiet. I was almost grateful for that. It let me rest. I am an absolutely hopeless man when I’m sick. I become a big baby. I hate that about myself, but I won’t lie about it.

My diet stayed simple: crackers, toast, a little egg. I treated myself to half a chicken pot pie both nights, which felt like a victory at the time. By Monday evening, the house filled back up. I thought I was better. I wasn’t. Around 3 a.m., the bug came back. And again. And again.

At that point, I knew I’d have to take another day off, even though I didn’t want to. Conveniently, we had plumbers scheduled. Though “convenient” is a strong word when you have a stomach bug and the water in your house is turned off. Do you know what kind of nightmare that is? Lucky for me, campus is close. I made more than one emergency visit up there.

Now, about those plumbers.

Because the house had been so quiet, I started noticing sounds again. The water heater kicking on when it shouldn’t. A familiar, awful sound. Not again.

Then I noticed something worse. The hallway and master bedroom floor felt… squishy. That’s never a good word. Another leak. The damn hot water line. Again. Apparently, nothing in this house fully heals the first time — including me.

The plumbers came by, read the meter, and said it was probably just a pinhole leak. “Just” a pinhole. Even a tiny leak can wreck a house over time. We were living proof.

The master plumber found where he believed the manifold was, which unfortunately meant going through the tile wall by the toilet. It is what it is. They ran yet another line through the attic. That attic has seen more action in the last two weeks than it has in years.

Yvette and I rotated house duty. Since I sure as hell wasn’t getting rest there, I dropped off my taxes. The sooner the better. I need to pay back some of the money I borrowed to cover these plumbing bills. I also used the trip to once again utilize a campus restroom. I am so over this damn stomach bug.

Back at the house, they were wrapping up when I witnessed something almost worth the chaos. Before removing the toilet, the helper forgot to turn off the water valve. When they tested the line, water shot everywhere. The master was not pleased. “I need you to do your part so I can do mine.” The helper was gone shortly after. The master apologized and said he wouldn’t be working with that guy again. I laughed silently. Even in the middle of misery, there’s always something.

For now, the problem is fixed. Two brand-spanking-new hot water lines replaced in two weeks. Two more still standing. Let’s hope they hold. If they don’t, at least give us a few years to financially recover.

After three days trapped inside, I needed out.

I found a bench swing along the river and just sat. We have a beautiful river that winds through this town — one most people take for granted. I needed fresh air. Space. Movement. I couldn’t start another damn show.

The river was steady. Calm. Indifferent to my plumbing and my stomach. It’s the lifeline of this city. Everything here comes back to it. Even me.

I watched a lone duck for a while. Ducks aren’t usually alone, so I wondered about that. I watched people drift in and out of view. Couples. Runners. Kids. I might have even witnessed a shady little drug deal. That’s the river. It gathers everything — families, solitude, deals, peace. The water kept moving whether I felt like shit or not.

I could’ve stayed for hours if my stomach would’ve allowed it. The sky was bright, the clouds barely there. For a moment, I almost forgot about the bug. But the battle between mind and stomach had a clear winner. And it wasn’t me.

When I left, the duck was still alone. I suppose we both were that day on the river.

Now, about Pluribus.

Damn, that was a good show. I wish I’d watched it under better circumstances, but what can you do? The world receives a transmission from deep space — basically a genetic code. And because we’re stupid humans, we assemble it. The result? All but twelve people on Earth become one hive mind. No individuality. No private thoughts. World peace. Perfect harmony. The hive isn’t hostile. In fact, it wants to please you. It’ll do anything you ask. Even deliver a nuke to your front porch if that’s what you request. So what do the twelve do? That’s the show. And it’s done beautifully.

The performances are strong across the board, and the writing is sharp. Of course it is. Same mind behind Breaking Bad and Better Call Saul. I’d absolutely recommend it — especially if you find yourself stuck on a couch, fighting demons from both ends.

I made it back to work the next day. My last episode had been after six the evening before — over twelve hours without incident. A miracle. I felt like a goddamn new man. It’s funny how you don’t realize how good you feel until you feel good again.

The office was locked when I arrived. Big morning meeting about the leadership change. I wasn’t about to attend. I used the quiet time to organize the mess on my desk. After being cooped up for days, I was ready to move. To drive. To get out into town. I was almost ecstatic.

While out, I saw a man face down in a Whataburger parking lot, hands cuffed behind his back while four officers searched his vehicle. Before ten in the morning. I don’t know what he did. Maybe he just wanted coffee and a honey butter chicken biscuit. Sometimes the day just doesn’t go your way.

The plumbers stopped by at noon to fix a small leak they’d caused. Ten minutes. No charge. A rare win.

That night I went to my mother’s, grilled for Yvette, Teegan, and myself, and had a genuinely good time. I wasn’t tired anymore. I missed a call from an old friend and returned it. As usual, he had nothing good to say. Only bad news. I was glad to know — but not glad to know.

The three-day work week passed without disaster. I stayed busy all over town. The weather was pretty damn great for February — warm most of the week. A hell of a contrast to how it started. Let’s hope I don’t go through some bullshit like that again for a very long damn time. I’ve had my fill.

Happy Friday!