On the 12th day of illness, my virus gave to me
phlegm globules of the shade green.
My flu has evolved to bronchitis. The last few days have been painful. My chest has produced these solid chunks that are not at all attractive or pleasant to hack forward.
I wonder if this is what cats go through to produce hairballs.
Michelle has loaned me her humidifier. I have added lavendar scent to it to make the house smell healthier than I feel.
I have bought a full compliment of vitamins, 5 lbs of oranges, am drinking liquids, and resting.
Resting is difficult for me. I am used to doing 3 - 4 things after work. I am used to being active until 1, 2 am.
Not so much, my body says. Slow down, it says.
The painful coughing and my whisery voice are good anti-social techniques. It's hard to communicate when the loudest sound one makes is a strained sound of ill-health.
Yesterday's sunshine was pleasant. My cheeks needed the warmth of the day.
After seeing Jamie Lee Curtis read from her children's book, "Is there really a human race?" for Litquake, I came home and nested at the house. I armed myself with Arizmendi baked goods, fruit, soup, vitamins, and Zadie Smith's On Beauty.
Between naps and trips to the loo I missed phone calls, and strained to return the calls. I heard the Tigers smashed the As and laughed as a radio program about music looped seemingly meaningless phrases until they became choruses. I thought to myself, "This is how the dance remix was created...a record skipped somewhere."
My house is an explosion of boxes disemboweled in my attempt to find more blankets or a special book I needed to enjoy in the moment or to free documents from their hidden prisons.
I have a nest of blankets that I am wrapped within and am rotating between cotton and synthetic fabrics, depending upon my body temperature. This morning it seems to be just fine, but I still don't have nasal passages.
Oh how I would love to be under the care of my parents. My friends have offered to bring things over, which is fantastic. I'm just usually asleep when they call. And when I wake up at 1 am, it's just not an appropriate time to call.
Today shall consist of more resting, reading, and puttering to twist more hair and open up clear paths to the kitchen and bathroom. And sleep. Lots of sleep. I want to participate in Houman's birthday celebration on Thursday. The Sleepover Crew is reconvening after a long hiatus. Yay.
Happy Sunday, all.
And my condolences to Buffalo, NY.
Someone needs to harness some of that water for the drought-ridden places on the planet.