It’s Fuzzy’s Fault

…that I’m sitting here feeling like I’m burnt to a crisp because he came down with a nasty flu on Saturday, and, typical of him, didn’t medicate or rest or anything until his fever had already escalated to “lobster” hot.

This morning, I was fine, if a bit scratchy throated, until D and M got on the road heading west, and then I sat down at my desk in the living room, and could literally feel the flu attacking my system. I went from normal to 102 in less than three hours, and have since napped, faded in and out of quasi-nappage, been so cold that despite the fact that the temperature outside was above 85, I was bundled in flannel pajamas, socks, a t-shirt, and a fleece pullover, while underneath four layers of blankets and clutching a heating pad, and currently (even post cool shower) I feel so feverish that I would not be surprised if the flesh on my arms peeled away like the meat from the bone of a chicken leg.

Fuzzy is improving, and just went to fetch dinner as we have nothing illness friendly in the house. Me? I want to bathe in ice water but it would take too much effort.