I got up Tuesday morning and was positive I was going to pass out... perhaps because I had a fever of 100.4. Now that might not seem high to you, but I run normally at 97.1. I drove to work to conquer those three hearings, stumbled to my desk, and realized I could not stand long enough to handle three hearings. I dropped the file off on another co-worker, while my boss(es) made the signs to ward off evil and sickness, and I drove home.
At some point in the day, I hid in the basement, because it was cooler down there, and even with air conditioning, I felt like I was standing under a rocket launch. The thermometer read 102.
Shortly after taking in that number, I became convinced that the dog's eyes were glowing red, that the dog was a zombie, and that the dog was going to eat me. The rational part of my brain was convinced that I was delirious.
All in all, it has faded now, though I am left with an intermittent voice and constant exhaustion, with strange bouts of coughing. Telly's eyes are not glowing anymore, much to my zombie-hating relief.
It's been a long week. I go to Buffalo next weekend to see the family collective (kind of like the borg collective, you know? --"you will be assimilated." It's their standard line.)
I think I need a nap before I see Vintage and her newly minted fiancée tonight. I'm exhausted just typing this. Resistance is futile.