I don't get sick often, so when I do, it's kind of a big thing.
I spent the last two days floating in and out of consciousness, fighting a fever that I could have sworn was in the area of 1000 degrees (but Levi assures me was only 102), and hacking so much that I actually developed a six-pack from all the abdominal work.
My niece and nephew came to visit over the weekend, and apparently my niece was just as surprised as I was that I was sick. "What do you have?" She asked, with an astonishment that would have been funny if I hadn't thought I was dying.
"I don't know, the plague?" I answered, in a pitiful, raspy voice that I meant to be funny but only came out sounding all dark and doom-and-gloomy. My niece, bless her heart, gave me a pity giggle but obviously didn't think it was as funny as I did.
Turns out that I likely had the flu, which was news to me since I hadn't actually had the flu since my freshman year in high school and had sworn since then that I wouldn't ever get sick again. I know you're looking at the screen all crazy-eyed right now, but I promise you that until this last week, it totally worked. Maybe I stumbled onto some "mind-over-matter" hoodoo, or maybe I just got really good at disinfecting surfaces and making sure that I avoided germs, but it seemed to work.
Alas, it caught up with me. I survived, so hopefully it will be another 17 years before I have to deal with the bowels of Hell trying to manifest inside my own body. Plus, I'll remember to get my flu shot from now on. That might have had something to do with it.
So my Public Service Announcement for today, unless you want to be laid up in bed for days questioning your own sanity and existence as your body rebels in the most horrible ways against you:
I spent the last two days floating in and out of consciousness, fighting a fever that I could have sworn was in the area of 1000 degrees (but Levi assures me was only 102), and hacking so much that I actually developed a six-pack from all the abdominal work.
It was something like this, minus the demons and the pea soup.
My niece and nephew came to visit over the weekend, and apparently my niece was just as surprised as I was that I was sick. "What do you have?" She asked, with an astonishment that would have been funny if I hadn't thought I was dying.
"I don't know, the plague?" I answered, in a pitiful, raspy voice that I meant to be funny but only came out sounding all dark and doom-and-gloomy. My niece, bless her heart, gave me a pity giggle but obviously didn't think it was as funny as I did.
Turns out that I likely had the flu, which was news to me since I hadn't actually had the flu since my freshman year in high school and had sworn since then that I wouldn't ever get sick again. I know you're looking at the screen all crazy-eyed right now, but I promise you that until this last week, it totally worked. Maybe I stumbled onto some "mind-over-matter" hoodoo, or maybe I just got really good at disinfecting surfaces and making sure that I avoided germs, but it seemed to work.
This is a totally normal method of avoiding germs, right?
Alas, it caught up with me. I survived, so hopefully it will be another 17 years before I have to deal with the bowels of Hell trying to manifest inside my own body. Plus, I'll remember to get my flu shot from now on. That might have had something to do with it.
So my Public Service Announcement for today, unless you want to be laid up in bed for days questioning your own sanity and existence as your body rebels in the most horrible ways against you:
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