Otter Fodder

The non-joy of strep.

An ill-timed bout of strep throat wielded its ugly, poorly designed, wrench into my 1954 workout routine gears this past week and I for one am hardly amused. All the effort of putting on some much needed weight has been dashed to the curb in an epically dramatic battle waged on one front by my body and on the other, an evil, merciless, take no prisoners, “I will find a way to kill you” bacteria. Like many people, I do not enjoy feeling as though Death himself is lurking like some creeper just outside my bedroom door, and what’s worse, I abhor being bedridden and bored out of my (considering my fever reached a point just slightly higher than that of the summit of Everest and possibly caused some minor brain damage) Easy Bake Oven of a skull.


Unwilling to take basic orders from my brain in its skin and bone Crock Pot, my body decided it was best to either stay prone or in a fetal position as waves fire and brimstone consumed it or chills not unlike those of a “Polar Vortex” swept over it. I even discovered that it IS possible to sweat like a pig without making the slightest of movements.

Crock pot

When I was not lying in state wondering who I should will my possessions to, or who to entrust the duty of clearing out the porn, ropes and toys, I did find time to not only wallow but indulge in something I rarely do… watch stuff at home. Since most of my week is spent in front of a screen with images of male genitalia being seared onto my gray matter, I usually spend my free time with my nose in a book. However, the act of reading was just too damn exhausting so I gave up.

With tablet perched neatly on the bed tray, pain relievers, water, cold damp cloth in dish, phone, cat and Chap Stick all within reach I tuned into season after glorious season of “This Old House”. Why not learn a thing or two about the joys of home restoration while the mere thought of lifting a hammer seems like a task requiring superhuman strength… I watched windows being restored and re-glazed, lead paint removal, a door knocker made by a blacksmith, trees cut down, trees planted, trees pruned. I saw a lot of bricks, several stones, acres of hardwood floors, miles of electrical wire, oceans of concrete, avalanches of crushed stone and more power tools than you could shake a Lesbian at. I also marveled at the wonderful New England accents of the guys on the show… “We’re here in Bahstan.” and felt the pangs of jealousy as I pipe dreamt about the joys of restoring my own Colonial home drifting between fever induced hallucinations and moments of shear and utter boredom.


So, after a solid week of nothing I’m finally beginning to feel better and hope to be getting back on track with even more enthusiasm to work out than ever before!

Muscle 1