scorching hot babe

There were phone calls last night, phone calls whose contents I barely remember. I've been gradually succumbing to the crud that has eaten the immune systems of my spouse and nearby friends. What began on Tuesday as an inexplicable inability to breathe fully while working out had spawned into the feeling of having a cat permanently sitting on my chest.

Even when it wasn't actually true.

By last night I had spiraled down into fever dreams—the half-lucid state I sink into after my fever rises above 100°. I took aspirin and curled up, fully dressed, in fresh sheets hoping that I would sleep. I didn't. I knew I wouldn't, but I had to try.

The phone lit up some time later. Time slips by you in this heated fog; single uncomfortable minutes strike you as eternities but the overall hours of sickness pass by in blurs. I cradled the phone to my ear—hello, Suzan and Brian—and we talked of their impending arrival. Today's jaunt from Atlanta to Huntsville on their part has been planned for months; irony has it that of the six of us who will be spending time together, four are sick and one is recovering from crud.

We must plot to steal Mary's immune system and share it amongst us. It seems only right, since she has so far managed to survive the ravaging virii that have scourged the plains. That, and she seems to like all of us, so she'll probably be an easy target. She'll never suspect us.

We are going to be an exciting bunch of friends this weekend. I can just tell. But, yes—phone calls, Amy, concentrate, even though it's hard when your brain's still unusually warm.

I confessed to Brian that my fever had spiked above 101°, prompting the comment, "I guess tonight you're a scorching hot babe. Just not in the way we usually like." I mentally wrote the phrase "scorching hot babe" in the air above me, hoping it would stay with me until the morning, until I could crawl out of bed and write it down.

When the aspirin kicked in, my fever lowered and I almost immediately went to sleep. I woke up exactly four hours later, immediately aware of why I'd awakened, and trying to figure out what, exactly I should do about it. I eventually found the aspirin bottle (some things are more difficult in the dark) and snuggled back under my sheets. Which, I decided, were spiffy.

I knew I wouldn't sleep, so I called my late-night staple: Jody, who works the night shift out in Atlanta.

I have no idea what we talked about. I just know that we talked for quite some time, and have the vaguest memory of lying on my left side, with my phone balanced precariously on my right ear, so that I could hear, and talk, without having to use my hands to hold on to the phone. I remember taking the phone from that position, clicking it off, and resting it on the nightstand.

Then, nothing. The aspirin apparently kicked in again after four a.m., and I slept. Deeply. Corpse-like. (From scorching hot babe to corpselike in the space of one post. Impressive, even for me.) I apparently slept so deeply that Tenzing's morning feed-me antics (kneading my shoulders, head-butting my head, etc.) did not rouse me. Jeff said that when his alarm went off, he was swarmed by Very Large And Starving Cats.

We'd planned on having an engaging and social weekend with friends, but I think it may end up being more of a quiet pile-up on the couch while everyone recuperates. I think the well ones should make the sick ones pancakes. With maple syrup, and maybe cinnamon. Or blueberries.

This is probably just going to turn out to be a garden-variety chest cold; bronchitis at the worst. I'll be fine shortly.

Oh, and I have my car back.

There was purring.

Have a lovely weekend. I'm going to go sleep now.

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