It took me all day Sunday to figure out that I’m not just tired — I’ve got the flu. The first clue was when I woke up at 4 a.m., shivering and shaking and so thirsty you’d think I’d just crawled out of the heating ducts. I spent most of the day working and napping in alternating bursts. Now I’m looped on OTC meds and can’t imagine sleeping.
I feel so cruddy, I don’t even want to read. That’s cruddy, pals. Generally, I’m one of those folks who reads shampoo bottles and cereal boxes when there’s nothing else — an addict.
To while away the time this evening while I recuperated and stared at the television, I thought about what I might have, instead of the flu, that was worse. I had it narrowed down to diphtheria or pernicious anemia, because I my neck was all swollen like the horrible pictures of diphtheria patients I found on the Internets, and because I was so damned weary, I couldn’t believe I could still have blood.
By about 6 p.m., I felt so ill that I actually sat on my bed and whimpered for a minute: “Hoo, hoo, hoo. Hoo, hoo, hoo.” Like a kid with a scraped knee.