I'm still not terrific today, but I doubt I'll get in to see my doctor. I can't have more than one night off without a medical certificate, which is a great way to encourage Dudley Doo-rights to come in, even when they feel like death, and are going to infect the rest of the staff. Colour me collapsing if I am as sick as I feel.
I tried to have a shower yesterday, but it was too hard to stand in one place while I washed, so I had the quickest bath ever. Baths, in my opinion, should be bubbled, candle-scented and furnished with a good book. Therefore they are always an hour long. Not yesterday, and I was toying with the idea of hacking all my hair off so I could stop the sweaty-haired lout feeling every time I turned my head on the pillow. I've worked my way through nearly all of the drugs in my drug bowl. I have a fruit bowl on top the microwave full of drug packets. Something in druggy literature must have dripped through, but it's not as fun as it sounds. No party packs of 'ludes, coke or tabs of questionable origin yet delirious effects in our household. Dammit.
Small lad scored this one on Friday and the poor mite simply slept for two days. He still has moments of looking peaky, but is otherwise fine, lucky for me, because staggering around yesterday to get his lunch and even conversation (such as it was) was getting a bit much. Today small one (for whom I am going to have to find a new soubriquet, since he's not so little anymore) is off to vacation care with the Y! M! C! A! (do the arm movements for me, would you? my joints still hurt), while I sleep off the day. And hopefully the last of the illness.
I'll try my doctor shortly, but given my luck last time, I think it's time for a new doctor. It's still early in the season yet.
I had plans for this five days off, which weren't terribly ambitious. Strangely none of those happened, what with me in bed all the time. As much as I'd like to be all upbeat and attempting poetical, really, I feel like dogshit and all over having a whinge. Plus even laughing hurts, or induces really painful coughing. I have hayfever at the moment too (say hey! to hayfever) and when I sneezed yesterday, I thought I'd blown out the back of my nose. You know, the bit where your nasal passages meet the roof of your mouth? That bit. Ouch.
I keep reading things weirdly too, so I couldn't escape into a good book. Or any book. I tried starting Sewer, Gas and Electric: the Public Works Trilogy but couldn't get past page four because my eyes were sliding all over the page. I looked up at this entry and though I had planes for this five days off, which makes no sense at all: our driveway is too steep and small for that sort of thing, though it might have shut up the screaming neighbours for five seconds. Not the same lot as previously reported (although they still feature), another lot.
I had an extravaganza of a long dream last night involving the show Medium, poisoned food that Joe Dubois kept eating and some kind of barbed-wire made of cooch grass. And there was unlabelled tinned food. It must have been delirium, because I'm pretty sure I surfaced a few times in there to roll over and tug my sweaty hair out from my neck. Or from my earring. Or off my face.
Cue this morning and the boys ran around getting ready to go to the Y! M! C! A! (ditto re arm movements please) while I slobbed out in bed wondering if I could manage getting up today. I'll need a cup of tea soon, so there's an incentive. I'd like to make mozzarella-filled meatballs with a tomato and bocconcini salad for dinner tonight (plus the makings will go off soon if I don't get to them), another incentive, of a doubtful nature, since it involves lying in bed all day in hopes of being well enough to get up later.
I think I'll go back to watching Castle and drifting off. Sound good? I thought so too.
