Only a few days ago I posted an entry about flying to Florida and back, and all the dangers of contracting an illness. But I hadn’t gotten sick yet, so ha ha!
Well ha ha ha.
Let this be a lesson, kids: if you’re okay, keep your mouth shut about it. Otherwise something will happen.
I felt more or less okay until about Thursday of last week. I joshed around with Apollonia and the merry crew at lunchtime that day, and then I went back to my office and –
And I really didn’t want to be there anymore. I felt bone-tired and listless and strangely aucch.
So I let my boss know, and I went home around 3pm, and I lay down and slept.
I maintained a pretty constant vegetative state for about forty-eight hours, mostly lying on my left side, my hands cupped under my head. I got up once in a while to get some water or try to eat something (usually a mistake), but inevitably groped my way back to my little futon.
I was running a pretty high fever (which finally broke sometime on Saturday night, praise the Lord Buddha). I alternated sweats and chills. The sweats were just sort of non-aesthetic; the chills were actually scary. I felt like I was having spasms.
My dreams were stupendous. They went so fast that they were exhausting. Sometime I was having three at once! One of them was entirely in the form of printed pages of dialogue flying all around. They were literally exploding out of me: I’d just close my eyes, and it was like standing over the crater of a volcano, watching the lava rushing straight up for you.
On Sunday, I finally felt better, a little. I had some meager Annie’s Shells and White Cheddar, which is not really my favorite food, but it sufficed. And some of Partner’s much more interesting pasta dish with meatballs and Italian sausage, which I somehow managed to tuck away when he wasn’t looking.
Listen: I lost at least two pounds in the last three days. I need sustenance.
Anyway: I’m still alive. Just so you know.
No comments:
Post a Comment