Am barely conscious today, which is a step up from yesterday. If I don’t count France, where I contracted every possible germ known to Gaul, I haven’t had the flu or even a cold since 2004. And now that I have the flu, I must say that, even as I’m flattened on the bed and hacking up my innards, it’s easier to deal with than any female ailment I’ve suffered in the interim.
Wish I could work. Wish I could write. All I can do is sleep, lazily toss the jingly ball for Robie (who brings it right back), and wish I was well enough to get anything done. Haven’t heard a peep from the insurance people about my claim. Meanwhile, I’m reading Last Chance to See, which is wonderful. Cursing the Academy for neglecting Mary and Max. Lord Arux says Fantastic Mr. Fox was dreadful. I believe him.
Nose has just started running. Awesome.