March 8th, 2008

Shakespeare- dramatic irony

(no subject)

So for anyone who hasn't managed to catch any of my moaning for the last few days, I am sick. Really, really sick. So sick that I'm not even looking at the computer screen as I type this, because focusing my eyes hurts. I'd take a painkiller, but considering my throat feels as if a piece of roadkill has climbed down it and settled in my stomach, that's probably not doable right yet. At least the fever broke this morning.

I've been sleeping a ton, in between the bouts of vomiting, and i keep having these awful fever dreams. I think I was delirious for a good amount of time last night-- for instance, I was afraid to go downstairs because the mole people might get me. Mole people. I ask you. Then, I was afraid to get up and go to the bathroom because a Wendigo might eat me. Stupidly, I didn't remind myself that wendigos either don't exist or are part of the lore of Native American tribes thousands of miles away from me, I reminded myself that I live in the suburbs. Of course, mole people can also live in the suburbs, they just do it farther south than we do, so I had to be careful.

Things are looking up, though. I can look at something without getting nauseous fora little while and I can swallow water at this point. I may actually make a speedy recovery.

Unfortunately I'm pretty sure that I will be missing Tosca tonight. Mrrr.