Everybody has those weeks. You know, the ones where you come back from fall break, develop pink eye in both eyes, continue fighting a 14-day cold at its zenith and suffer from awful abdominal cramps akin to the ladies of the world (ahem). Nope? Just me? OK.

This past week has consisted of a myriad of UHS visits, copious eye drops, Allegra and Aleve. I had to desist my daily application of eye makeup, something as disorienting and foreign to me as a trip to East Lansing. My suitemates were frightened. The mirror was frightened. I was frightened.

But things tend to get better with time, as the mystics (and my mom) say. My eyes are almost fully white now, still sans mascara; I’m down to a few nose-blows a day, and the cramps have wined and dined. I’ve come out in the clear — “unscathed” is a matter of kitschy debate, though.

So what pulled me through it? Why, music of course: only the greatest, most powerful force of unity and rejuvenation that our ears get to experience. And what is illness if it doesn’t have a soundtrack? Igor Stravinsky was cholera’s contemporary. Broke With Expensive Taste infiltrated the scene during the throws of 2014 Ebola-mania. I simply couldn’t have fought the good fight without these artists and a few fantastic others. They held my hand through it all, breathed life into a bedridden dame, stared deeply into my crusty eyes — then ran for the hills. Can the CVS pharmacist carry a tune?

Sick Tunes

 

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