Still sick. This grippe is hanging on like a sloth from a branch. I drag my sorry self to work every day not with the intention of infecting people, but simply because it's more work to be out than it is to be in. Plus, our wing of the school sounds like a tuberculosis unit already. Everyone is hacking up a lung or two. Might as well join the fray.
Monday I am too sick to go anywhere and barely make it home from work before collapsing. Tuesday I develop a late afternoon fever, so I go straight home, as well. Wednesday and Thursday I don't sleep much and hit the wall both afternoons, so I head home after being on my feet all day. Sitting up is the only answer for sleep, and I wake up so often during the nights to gag/cough that I manage to piece together about ten hours of sleep over four nights, and I develop severe neck and back issues.
Finally, on Friday, I feel upright enough and can stop hacking long enough to make a quick stop at the grocery store. Despite drinking tea all day long, my body is dehydrated, so I am breaking down and getting myself some soda. I also decide that I need a decent meal. Yes, I desperately need something more substantial than chicken noodle or tomato soup.
I quickly hit the aisles, but it is the Friday before Thanksgiving, and the store is busier than I expect. Oh, well. If I have to wait in a long line, I might as well really stock up. I throw a few extras into my carriage along with soda and stew ingredients. I add bagels, lemon, tea, honey, cough drops, ice cream, broccoli cheddar soup. And, of course, the panacea: Puffs Plus with Lotion tissues, because my poor nose is bloodied raw.
I plan my exit strategy perfectly. By the time I hit the check-out area, there is a lull, and I manage to find an open register. Life is good. But, to be honest, by the time I haul my four bags of groceries up to my apartment, I am more than ready to sit still for the evening.
This morning I get that crock pot going early, pour everything in, add seasonings, sauces, marinades, and half a bottle of bourbon-barrel wine. I run a couple of quick errands then come home, settle in with a book, and wait for my first real meal in over a week. It's worth the wait, but, like someone eating too much after a period of fasting, it takes a while for my stomach to recognize that it is no longer on the "I Think I Might Be Dying" Diet.
I will be eating that stew for a few days. I don't care. It is so worth it, and I am going to savor my step-up from soup as I (hopefully) continue to recover from whatever plague has been cast upon my body by the little booger-heads running loose in the hallways of my place of employment.
