Unlike the Norwegian Parrot, I’m not pinin’ for the fjords. I can attest, however, that the flu is no fun. And having spent three days in bed with my husband, the dialogue was steamy:
“Did you turn up the heater?”
“I’m so cold… No, I’m so hot.”
“Where’s the thermometer?”
“If your temp goes over 101, take asprin.”
“Want a water bottle?”
“Hargarl… coff coff coff”
Yeah. Sexy city. But we neither of us died although the First Reader had a span there where he wished he could, he said. Also, this might just be too much togetherness. Doing things as a team would be nicer when sick if you take turns and don’t do it at the same time. The kids retreated to their rooms for the duration, at least when the zombie-like figures of the parental types emerged for brief moments. The dog was thoroughly confused, and kept trying to wake us up to play with us, until I resorted to locking her out of the bedroom.
I’m still not all there, but I’m dragging my carcase to work, anyway. I think I’m past contagious, and there’s things that need doing. I only feel like I’m recovering from having been run over by a truck (and then it backed up again) instead of freshly murdalized.
You know it’s bad when there’s a 24 hour period where I couldn’t read. I slept, some, and drifted in and out, but I couldn’t focus enough for proper reading. I did eventually start binge reading, after I started to recover a bit, and did what someone referred to as ‘chain reading’ one book after another to keep myself from thinking too much about the discomfort. I asked what counted as binge-reading and no-one had a straight answer for me! Ah, well, I didn’t keep track of all the books I read, anyway, other than somewhere around nine Agatha Christies.
Y’know it’s bad when this is the first time in four days we’ve made coffee.
Tomorrow I’ll attempt more of a blog.