a leech, a tick and a VP pick

Deer Tick
Image from www.tickinfo.com

Apparently, I contracted Lyme Disease several weeks ago.  Not lucky enough to get the early warning of a bulls-eye bite, I had to wait for the “flu-like” symptoms that would announce my fate with a vengeance.  Consequently, I’ve spent the last week in a feverish stupor, suffering from headaches, body aches, and a few delusional nightmares.

I dreamt about canning a too-big batch of tomatoes, riding a too-intense rollercoaster, and swimming in a too-cold ocean.  The worst however: I dreamt that Romney named too-conservative Paul Ryan to be his running mate in November [but really, who did I expect, Barney Frank?]

Romney and Ryan: Laughing their way to the bank?
image from www.usmagazine.com

Ranting and raving in my bed, I saw TANF, food stamps and housing assistance slashed, I saw social security dissolved like sugar in Wall Street’s morning coffee, and I saw Medicaid, Medicare, Obamacare…and hell, why not any care, eradicated. 

I drank lots of fluids, rested dutifully, took Motrin, then Tylenol, then Vicodin, but the fever, the headaches and the nightmares continued.  I dreamt that Ryan opposed gays in the military, gays in marriage, perhaps gays in general?  

I felt a slipping of time.  In my delirium I mumbled, “what decade is it?”  Steve admonished that I should rest, but I only fell deeper into the grip of troubling hallucinations:  Ryan voting against the Lilly Ledbetter Fair Pay Act.  Ryan opposing abortion rights, even for rape and incest victims.  Ryan supporting personhood legislation that would equate abortion and some forms of birth control with murder.  The crazy go-back-in-time train kept on rolling, as if Ozzy Osbourne himself were manning the engine.

In my nightmare, where a man of such backward views could stand to win such a prominent political office, my concern for lost decades turned more grave.  “What century is it?” I implored, as Steve held a glass of water to my dried and cracking lips.

Could it be 1812?  Was it possible my antique bed wasn't an antique at all?  Completely disoriented, I looked around wildly. Would Ryan bring his callous 19th Century views to my bedside and recommend they bleed me with leeches?  Plunge me into a tub of icy water?  Let me die of this bacterial infection?


image from www.suite101.com

Just when I thought I would lose my mind with worry, the fever broke.  With relief, I saw that I do not (yet) live in 1812 with Paul Ryan.  Instead, I live in the 21^st Century with Barack Obama.  I know we have our troubles, but I like this place where women and gays have increasing (and not decreasing) rights; where the supreme court upheld Obamacare; where the elderly receive built-in financial and medical benefits; where TANF dollars and food stamps help hardworking families stay in their homes; and yes, where we have antibiotics. 

Note: Although some aspects of the week’s events have been a teensy bit overdramatized, I really do have Lyme Disease, I really have spent a feverish week in bed, and yes, I'm sorry, but Mitt Romney really did choose Paul Ryan over Barney Frank for his running mate.  To avoid these nuisances in your own life: check regularly for ticks, beware of lengthy unexplained “flu-like” symptoms, and keep us in the 21^st Century: vote Obama/Biden 2012!