March 21, 2007

There's no cure.

For a while now Iíve been a very sick man. Iím not alluding to my head cold that I mentioned in the below post. There have been some very serious issues with me, and they havenít been getting any better. Slowly Iíve been getting progressively worse.

Iíve been trying to keep up a good face about it, but I think my friends and family have figured out something is wrong. As things have progressed theyíve started to alienate me, or at least it feels that way. I see and hear less and less from them and theyíve stopped inviting me out with them. Not to be all machismo about it, but I can handle that easily. What bothered me was not knowing what was wrong with me.

Finally, today, Iíve been given a partial answer. They finally diagnosed my condition. I found much relief in that. Unfortunately, itís incurable. There is absolutely nothing that can be done about it. I probably wonít die, but I will suffer for the rest of my life with it. I guess Iíll just have to learn to cope with it, as itís also not treatable.

I have Chronic Lyricosis. There are two different versions of Lyricosis.

1) Singing so poorly that nobody can understand what youíve sung; 2) Not knowing the actual lyrics, but singing anway. Usually type one causes type two in the listeners, therefore the condition is considered contagious.

The sad thing is that have I both versions, even if the second version is somewhat voluntary. Yes, I know the correct lyrics to Celin Dionís ďMy heart will go onĒ is: Near far wherever you are, I believe that the heart does go on. I always sing, Near, far alone or in a bar. I believe that beer tastes better. Sure the Carpenters wrote, ďWhy do birds suddenly appear, everytime that you are near.Ē But isnít it better ďWhy do birds suddenly appear, everytime I drink beer?Ē Of course Joe Crocker meant the lyric to be, Love lift us up where we belong. Where eagles cry, on a mountain high.Ē And Iím sure heíd kick my arse for me changing it to, ďLove lift us up where we were wrong. Where the eagles die, way up in the skyĒ but I just canít help it.

I prefer making up my own lyrics. They are a lot more fun to sing. Though in the fact that I canít hold a tune in a dump truck and often sing in a Scottish burr, does it really matter what lyrics I sing? I mean usually people are running away from my absolutely horrible singing voice. Many years ago Grauís family, Wesí Family and mine went camping. They had a karaoke contest. Although I know Iím a bad singer, I was kind of hurt at the fact that they where honest to goodness surprised that I didnít win the worst singer award.

Well, at least I know why they donít invite to go karaoke anymore.

Oh, and as for the real health issues, uhÖ they still donít know. Itís pretty bad, oh and Iíve gotten so used to coughing up stomach acid and bile all the time that Iíve gotten accustomed to the taste and actually kind of enjoy it. Yea, I know.

Posted by Contagion in Bullshite at March 21, 2007 05:25 PM | TrackBack
Comments

hahaha. I have 'cantsingitis' per my children. If I sing any song, they ask me to stop... whether I use the right words or not.

Posted by: vw bug at March 21, 2007 06:25 PM

are you drinking anything to neutralize that stomach acid once its in your mouth? it will rot your teeth. Soda water works I think... 7up? then brush. don't brush first. The teeth have been compromised with the acid and the brushing makes it bad, so you want to neutralize first.

Not that you are concerned about any of htis. I mean, having chronic lyricosis is definitely enough to keep you awake at night!

Posted by: Bou at March 21, 2007 08:56 PM

The rotting teeth will only enhance his reenactor-cred

Posted by: Graumagus at March 22, 2007 02:59 AM

My husband has this disease. Though the lyrics he chooses to sing are . . . ahem . . . not appropriate for family ears!

Posted by: oddybobo at March 22, 2007 07:51 AM