That’s the only word I can think of to describe the horrendously funky taste I’ve had in my mouth since yesterday morning. Gross, gross, gross. I’m told that what I taste doesn’t translate to halitosis, but I’m not sure that I believe them. They’re being very nice and doing all sorts of things for me … which I’m interpreting as a way of getting me to stay upstairs, or at least in another room. But hey, if a grungy mouth is what it takes to get some mundane tasks done willingly by someone else for a change, hide the toothpaste and mouthwash, folks! Not that they help for long anyway, really, but brief periods of minty freshness are better than none.
The culprit is the virus that has been hanging around for almost a year now. When it rears its head, the mouth tastes like dead things. Or how I imagine nasty dead things taste, anyway. Thought I had finally really beaten the virus in the past few weeks, as I’ve been feeling quite well since getting through the last relapse around Thanksgiving last month. Greater than I’ve felt for a year, for sure. But now it’s picking on me again, wretched beast. Disappointing, but whatever. Don’t have the energy for an expression of strong indignation, so I’ll just give it the eye roll and leave it at that. I’ll feel okay again in a few days. But meanwhile, glaaaah!