I am trying to be more present with the blog but, as real life shit gets in the way, my blogging life suffers.

For example I had a post for today.  It was a pretty okay post about the usual Kardashian style family debacle that fills my life.  I mean you can’t make this shit up!

It was a story that had it all.  Wit.  Drama.  Sex.  But I deleted it.  Accidently.  And I can’t replicate it because my head isn’t working right now.  Some people might say that my head never really works properly but as I am possibly dying of the plague, or that shit that is running rampant in New Orleans in that new show, Containment.  Have you watched that shit?  Graphic.  Anyway I digress.

So instead of me giving you a story of the most recent drama between two of my four SIL’s (it was epically great and I will write it again when my brain has re-booted) I will have a little whinge-fest instead about health.

I am ill.  Hasta.

Perhaps I won’t die from this particular illness but the headaches are crippling and my only salvation is to lie on the couch and binge watch Game of Thrones in readiness for Monday.  MONDAYYYYYY!!!  If I do happen to die before Monday and I never see what happened to Jon Snow then … well … I guess I may as well be dead.

So I am ill and when one is ill in the Village everybody puts their doctor hats on and comes to your aid.  Regardless of the fact that they do not have any medical background what they do have though is a diagnosis, a treatment plan and a fecking opinion.

Let’s start with my SIL Songul.  She has diagnosed the grip and of course I am ill because I have slept with the window open.  It is clear that letting fresh air in has caused this debilitating disease.

Treatment plan:  Corba.  Lots of corba.  Iskende or paca if I can stomach it (no I cannot stomach it) but if not a hearty Eze Gelin.

Verdict:  Tasty.

The Turk of course has his own opinion.  I am, of course, ill because we don’t have enough sex.

His treatment plan:  Sex.  Of course.

Verdict:  Didn’t help.  Ugh!

The fat teyze that lives opposite us:  Now she is, like, 100 or something so she’s had a pretty good innings.  I think she might be the closest of all of them to an actual doctor (although I suspect she has never set foot in a school).  Her diagnosis of my illness is the same every time I’m under the weather – My Hurley Dog and My Kedi Cat are disease ravaged vermin and should be thrown out with the garbage.

Her treatment plan: Garlic and regular usage of limon kolon (which, of course, no germ can survive).

Verdict:  Piss off!  It’s not my fecking animals.

Another SIL (the loud one) has suggested that I am not dressing appropriately for the weather.  Yesterday was a very pleasant 29 degrees.  No I did not have a jacket on and therefore yes I am going to die.

Her treatment plan:  A jacket (of course) and a strange çay that she concocted herself after wandering around the village to collect ingredients from various gardens.

Verdict:  Tasted like dirt

Aunty Muriel: I love me some Auntie Muriel.  She popped in last night upon hearing that I am close to death’s door.  Her diagnosis was simple. “Sıcak!”  “Soğuk!”  “Sıcak!”  “Soğuk!”  Now she repeated this a few times so I am assuming that she was saying that the weather is to blame for my current debilitating situation.

Her treatment plan:  I believe if anyone can fix what ails me it’s Aunty Muriel.  She made me some Icel köfte and she brought me a little blanket to tuck me in on the couch.  The blanket smells a little funky but that’s okay because it was given to me with love (and The Turk is going to wash it for me today).

Verdict: Still knocking on heaven’s door but damn I felt better with a little motherly love.

If anyone needs me I am on the couch.  With my Icel köfte and my corba and my funky little blanket although right now the school across the street are practicing for their end of year concert.  I have heard Gangnam Style 6 times already today … so far.

Maybe I’m already dead.

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