In the Sick Ward
At some point in between the watching of the interminable Mother India at the film archives and the slightly less serious 40-Year-Old Virgin at the guys’ place on Wednesday, I managed to offend my body in such a way that it manifested itself the next morning in what has now been diagnosed as a viral fever.
Now, I don’t get sick. Everyone I know gets sick about once every ten days and makes a big fuss and leaves used tissues everywhere (wimps), but it takes me a good three years to catch something bigger than a headache or a day-long sore throat. But now I’ve mysteriously managed to contract this virus, which makes my head feel like it’s going to fall off if I walk any further than the bakery next door (where I just bought a praline eclair — DON’T JUDGE).
The only things I want to eat are clear vegetable soup (my lunchtime room service order the past three days) and chocolate in any form. I will drink anything, however, with special preferences for hot tea and anything carbonated, so I can numb the back of my throat if I swallow properly. I have been wearing the same clothes for the past three days, despite two hot baths and a shower. My expression, I would imagine, is somewhat dazed. I sound like I have emphysema. But apart from all of this there is not really any pain and no nausea, and I’ve been reasonably productive. For example, I’ve finished almost all of my Power and Contestation reading. And I’ve tried multiple times to watch an episode in the fifth season of Grey’s Anatomy, with minimal results. And I flossed a few times.
I don’t have it as bad as some other people in the program, who are dealing with stomach issues. I will gladly accept fever and sore throat over stomach issues.
But I forgot how bad Sprite tastes. Lemon Mirinda anyday.
yeah, that’s my update.