Thursday, March 12, 2009

Oh man, do I ever have the flu.

It's been years and years since I've had the flu, and I forgot how completely miserable it is. I have spent almost all of my time at home for the last three days in a miserable heap on my couch, sweating and shivering and cursing germs and the universe and my dependably poor immune system.

I have always been sickly, if my baby books are to be believed--and given that my mom's not much of a liar, I don't see why they wouldn't be. I had colds that delayed my shots in the first few months after I was born, bronchitis for the first time before I was a year old, pneumonia at three. (Other things never change, too: by 3 1/2 I was trying to play Scrabble, and probably doing about as well then as I do now. "Mostly outgoing except around some strange men." I was also reading by then, and evidently doing my level best to explain to my peers how awesome books are. We are always fundamentally ourselves.) If something is going around, I will always get it.

I usually stay away from Nyquil, since it essentially makes me pass out on the spot and sleep for 74 hours, but I think these are desperate times.

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