I have been dying in bed with the flu since Monday if anyone wondered what had become of me. Each day I managed to barely sit up and take a picture of my surroundings - this one, my bedroom curtains - and then I lay back down again and wished I was dead. It's been truly horrible and even the remarkable fever dreams (102.2 for almost 72 hours straight, mmm hmmm) and all the Nyquil I cared to drink didn't make it any better. I still feel gruesome; I've missed three days of work; I don't even want to glance in a mirror and yet I think I have to go to work today. My house looks like a small thermonuclear bomb went off in it (we live balanced on a tenuous precipiece over the chaos void, and when I give up it all goes kablooie really fast) the dogs are worried, the bathtub drain has quit working altogether and M says that if he's late to first period one more time he'll be suspended. So, you know, business as usual. Argh. I still feel totally horrible but I'm going to get up today and go to work.
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