Taking the Fun out of Fungi

I've been thinking a lot lately why I've probably had bronchitis twice in the last two months (I say probably because I haven't actually been to the doctor. I picked the wrong insurance plan - the one with an insane deductible and also the one with mental health coverage for my inevitable nervous breakdown which I can't afford - mentally or financially).

Yes, bronchitis voice can be sexy - Rod Stewart made a career out of it. But, outside of topping the Billboard Charts, spitting up green globs, stifling coughs during conference calls at work and constantly clearing my throat is less than attractive.

Two nights ago I had one of the worst nights I've had in a long time; I shivered so much from my fever that my jaw was sore the next morning. For whatever reason, I still decided to go to work but arrived looking menopausal with sweat teeming down my face. My boss sent me home and I slept for an impressive 21 hours.

I feel much better now, but have a new development: when I exhale or yawn, my fingers get very tingly. I did some research, and the Internets have told me that I have multiple sclerosis. Has this sensation happened to anyone else? (outside from eating a York Peppermint Pattie)

After my extensive research (read: Google), I looked around my apartment for clues why I might be sick.

First, in my bedroom I have one window that still has the air conditioner unit in it. This air conditioner is very old - it wasn't mine to begin with, it was my ex-boyfriend's, but I decided that if I had to pay for our sin apartment all by myself after he moved out, I could at least keep the AC. I'm sure it's seeping death/failed relationship particles into my room at night, but one of my best friends/resident male handymen recently moved back to Chicago. I'm usually not THIS girly, but I do need a man for a few things.

Then, there's my Brita filter. I have not changed this filter since I moved back to New York ... in April of last year. I've essentially been sifting dirty New York water through a dirty Brita filter into my body. No wonder my lungs feel like those of an 80-year-old smoker.

Since I was in my kitchen, I looked around for other signs. Here is a towel where my roommate and I dry all our dishes. Full disclosure, sometimes these dishes sit here for days not being put away. But, look at what we have here - mold!:

Then, I knew what I was going to find in my bathroom. I've been ignoring it for a long time - passive aggressively hoping someone else would buy a new shower curtain liner. I'm embarrassed to share this, but if I put it out there, maybe I'll change it:

I've taken the same passive aggressive approach with the Irish Spring in the shower, too. Whose IS that?
I can't keep spending money on NyQuil knock-offs and killing my lungs, especially if I refuse to pay my voodoo doctor more money to cure me when I know what I'm doing wrong. Tonight after work, I am going to clean my apartment head to toe to make sure I don't get sick anymore, because if you want something done ... wait until you're on your death bed and are finally forced to do it yourself.