Shuffling about the house, discovering and resettling crumpled tissues in various pockets and sleeves, I have taken to muttering to myself.
“This is so unfair, this is terrible, I can’t go on, I am over this, oh dear, oh my, that hurts,” punctured by sneezes that frighten Augie Dog and cause him to race excitedly up and down the hall and about the room, as well as coughs that can only end in the regurgitation of both lungs and stomach contents, and perhaps a sizeable portion of my circulatory system.
Minerva got me, or maybe it was the pig swill of germs at the pharmacy last week, but my defences have been breached. I have flu.
I have been in bed for the most of five days now, coughing, snuffling, head aching, in a semi coma from my medicine cabinet cocktail mix. I moan and groan, contemplating my imminent demise.
Not all the tea in the world can make this better