How you... HACK, wheeze

R was sick last week and we thought I had escaped it with my healthy healthy self. I seem to be able to miss many of the illnesses he brings into the house. Not so this time, this week it was my turn.
I can actually pinpoint the moment it conquered me. It was during the Oscars. “I Need to Wake Up” from “An Inconvenient Truth” by Melissa Etheridge had just taken the Oscar for original song (and she totally deserved it) when my throat got very sore (blame the drainage) and letting straight whiskey slowly slide along the sore side was not working it’s usual magic. I knew it was the beginning of the end.
For the next 2 days I was feverish and oozing. I went through a box of tea (finally calling R to fetch home anything but more tea) and a box of tissue (NOT the aloe kind R had, nooooo he just got me the normal ones which I still remind him none to kindly about). Sleep was illusive. Waking up every 2 hours because I (R said) couldn’t breath, cold because my clothes were wet with sweat, or just because it had been a while and, apparently, I should be wide awake. When I could sleep the fever dreams were the best parts. I woke up delusional patting myself down because I was trying to figure out how to communicate with my body. Vivid vignettes of dreams that always seemed to end with a cold wind stealing my breath and me waking up, blowing my nose and snuggling my cold head back under the covers. I had a beautiful dream as a short story. Oh if only I could have captured it I’d be published right now. I remember at the time thinking I was amazed this was coming from me. Great plot that flowed, dialogue (which I can’t write), and that thing that draws you in and makes you want more. Arg if only we could capture our dreams.
Still sick I struggled into work Wednesday. #1 boss was worried about stuff falling through the cracks. I was right to go in. I’m beginning to wonder what they are going to do with me out for 2 weeks in August. I patched the leaks in the ship for a couple of hours and staggered back home. Thursday I came back for more, there was still so much to do. True some of it was my own fault. Last Friday I said, I’ll do that on Monday, and here it was Thursday and still undone.
Tussin on my desk, tea mixed with cranberry juice in my mug, cough drops in my drawer, tissue in my hand, and a glazed look on my face I struggled through another day. My boss called me with more holes in the ship and as he was talking to me asked if I was falling a sleep, if I had my head down on the desk right then. I told him no, as I wiped the drool off my desk, but told him he was talking to a zombie.
Of course Thursday night game night had to be postponed. Because, as R put it, I was still feverish and while he didn’t think I was infectious, he could not guarantee that I would not lick all the food.
Today it’s Friday. I do feel better. Although I woke up shirt soaked through with sweat last night, I don’t think I have a fever today. I still look like the undead version of myself and carry tissue around but less for the unexpected running and explosions and more for the forceful expulsions and productive cough (mmmm I’m so pretty). So I’ll give it a few hours and then when my boss finally comes in today, I’ll greet him with my pleasant gravel voice, smile at him with my cracking lips and glazed over eyes, cough on him and go home.