I'm the Biggest Eeg

When I woke up at 5 this morning and my skin was cool, it felt brand new. Like putting your hand on the shady side of a sun-drenched marble column.

How it's gone the last three days: okay/fine in the morning, a little nauseous by noon, the fever settling around 2 or 3. You know how I can tell? By putting my arms akimbo, thumbs around the front, fingers spreading over my back. I don't know why there more than anywhere, but the heat and surface tenderness seem gathered in those spots.

When I turned off the light last night, I worried about falling asleep. I can't say that I fell asleep, but I drifted into and out of a colourful psychadelic dream consciousness for about 4 hours. Every once in a while I'd wake up enough to switch positions, relieve some pressure on whatever aching part of my anatomy was getting it, and sink back into the blossoms of colour pulsing out.

Who knew that fever was the only psychadelic that doesn't make me horribly ill?

Um. Oh. Nevermind.

Though really, it's the other way around in this case.

Today is better than yesterday. Yesterday I walked halfway to the Hartman's before realizing that there was no way I was going to make it there and back. Then I realized, thinking about the long hot shadeless blocks home, that I wasn't sure how I was going to make it back. I sat on the wall outside the beer store for a while, slumped over and looking exactly in place.

Oooh, poor me.

I had high hopes of being better by tonight, planned on being back at work tomorrow. I'm not sure that's going to happen. But I'm sick to death of lying down and sitting, though standing and walking have become their own troublesome burdens.

Excuse me, I have to go lie down again.