I'm writing from the dead. Over the weekend I was afflicted by some sort of evil microbe. From the top: headache; sore eyes; every nasal symptom in the book but particularly a sort of burning sensation like that one that you get when you need to sneeze but can't, only it's been going on for close to 24 hours and I have it even when I am sneezing; vaguely sore throat; stiff neck/shoulders/back (but that could be due to sleeping for more than half of the last 2 days); dry mouth (and weird voice, which somehow manages to startle me when I hear it); and the most odd food tolerance/craving--all I want or can stand to eat is/are the following: soup (Chunky, and only chicken varieties), orange juice, lemon or blackberry tea, biscuits, and oatmeal raisin muffins. Oh, and Apple Jacks. That's totally weird, because I can't really stand to eat them, but when I dragged my sorry ass to the grocery store last night they practically leapt off the shelf and into my basket and I ate them for breakfast this morning like I'd never tasted anything so delicious.
The weekend was more than I can explain right now with an impaired attention span and flu medicine numbed fingers. The briefest version: Dean and I took a trip. It was fun and scary and beautiful (photos later, maybe), and I don't anticipate doing anything like that for a while. Of course, part of that feeling might be my general sense that I'm dying.
Speaking of dying, I'm going to slither painfully toward the bathtub and see if I can't either get clean or die trying. Last time I checked (and I'm irritatingly fond of this) my temperature was up to 101.6°. At the moment, I'm hoping for the dying option.