Not In A Hurry
This cold is struggling to get better (or is it “struggling to go away”, the use of better implying progress toward walking pneumonia or something equally pleasant?). I say it seems to be “going away”, but on its own schedule. I spent eleven hours at the office Sunday - something that couldn't be avoided - and that's no way to recuperate on the first day after you feel you've turned the corner. No complaints. Many things to do (have you heard that before?), many pictures to print before I leave for Portland (and then on to Seattle) this Thursday, returning to Oakland the Tuesday following. Christmas, at least, will be a time to zone out. Not a lot happens around our office during the Christmas holidays. Other than layoffs, of course, which will be announced, if they are announced, on Tuesday.
Thursday. How do you spell relapse? The chills, my son: the chills are a good indicator, wrapped up in your blankets with but your nose sticking out in the bedroom air, the cold, freezing bedroom air, no ambition to get in the car - even a car as wonderful as an Element - and drive to Portland.
Not good.
No, not good. I got up late this morning, thinking I'd see how I felt around noon. I could easily run up Highway 5 and drive into the early evening; check into a motel and get a good night's sleep; finish the trip to Portland in the late afternoon. I didn't. I haven't. I will call my sister. I want to get up to Portland and see the family: “hi everbody! I'm the one who lives in Oakland.”. The brother? Remember? The one who went to San Francisco and stayed?
Later. No better. Not terribly bad, but a low level fever, the sweats, no chills yet, but it is not possible at the moment to sleep. One day, one hopes much later, one hopes not in the form of a flu pandemic, one of these will come along and nail me into my coffin. I can wait. I am not in a hurry.
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