Fuck you, Coldfx

So I learned the hard way that Coldfx doesn’t work.

I have been taking Coldfx diligently since August, when I decided that I needed to graduate from grape-flavoured Echinacea drops made for children and adults with questionably strong gag-reflexes.

All this time, I thought it was keeping me from getting sick. Like it was some sort of magick medical voodoo stuffed into a tiny, dry pill that sometimes stuck to the side of my trachea, causing me to gag pathetically until it sidled its way down again.

But this past Monday morning, I woke up with one of the most heinous colds of my life. It was not just a cold. That would be the understatement of the year. This cold makes other colds looks like candy treats from grandma’s purse. This cold makes other colds look like a back massage on a warm poolside afternoon.

This cold has literally raped my skull of all last droplets of mucus. I’m pretty sure my organs are just bits of sandpaper rubbing together now. The skin under my nose is a tar strip where nothing grows anymore, especially not new flesh.

Words fell out of my mouth in no particular order. I couldn’t write a sentence if I was being stabbed to death with office staplers attaching little ColdFx pills to my crippled, hunched body.

I took to ramming little pieces of kleenex up my nose when I slept just so that I wouldn’t wake up dizzy and soaked from my own pathetic nocturnal sneezing.

But I was a trooper. I kept taking those little white placebo pieces of crap along with my vitamins, convinced that at least my urine would be a fashionably deceptive shade of efficacy. Wrong, wrong, wrong.

But today, I woke up and the plague had subsided. And it wasn’t because I did any of the right things: I had slept ten hours every night, I had drank my body weight in green tea (and cranberry, and mojito, and camomile), I had worn warm clothes and taken warm baths, I had eaten nothing but the purest vegetables and healthiest snacks.

Around Wednesday night, I decided to stay late at work, because it was taking me twice as long to do my normal fucking job. I didn’t sleep well that night. I think I might’ve had a cookie for dinner.

And my Cold, absolutely disgusted that I had stopped struggling, moved on. That’s how sadists work. They only stick around to see you flopping around pathetically. The instant you show acceptance of your fate, they move on.

So the next time you’re sick, don’t take ColdFx just because you’re Canadian and Don Cherry’s voice sometimes passes through your head. Accept your fate and move on.

And here’s some music.

LUCIOLuca C & Brigante

Stay BlueThieves Like Us

Contact High (Clock Opera Remix)Architecture in Helsinki

Lower MindAmen Dunes

4 thoughts on “Fuck you, Coldfx

  1. Lovely. If you needed some mucous, you could have asked. Too late, now. Glad you’re feeling better.

    Echinacea. The gateway drops.

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