Tuesday, November 10, 2009

I throw truffles in your general direction

So, I got the flu. And because of the CDCE, it was considered the "Swine Flu" (which I have always thought of as being a thinly veiled cover for some sort of zombie virus) , but since I did not feel like eating either brains or truffles, I'm pretty sure I just had a run-of-the-mill, pain-like-nothing-you've-ever-experienced-before, sexy-doctor-asking-you-why-your-fever-got-so-high flu.

And yes, he really did ask me why I let my fever get so high, like I suddenly came down with the flu and thought, "Hey! let's see how high I can get my body temperature to rise before my brain boils in its own fluid!"

And yes, he was totally sexy. I think he was Persian, and he had an accent, and he was all dark and mysterious with piercing purpley-brown eyes. I mean, I was near death. I wasn't actually DEAD.

And then I joined NaNoWriMo, and I have no more time to write anything, let alone essays that actually are read, or blogs that no one reads.

Also, I'm getting depressed because my grandma died in June, and I'm really starting to miss her a lot now. It's been months since I heard her voice, heard her call me "honey" or "sweetheart." She's not going to call me this year and ask for an official Red Ryder carbine action range-model air rifle. I'm not going to tell her that she'll just shoot her eye out.

So...yeah. this is probably the stuff that I should be writing about. But I haven't been.

Anyway, that's life.

1 comment:

  1. We're still hoping to dodge the swine flu/zombie plague virus. I'm afraid the kids are going to get it...I mean, if *I* get sick, that's one thing, but little ones can't tell you when they start to feel bad.

    Why'd he think you *let* your fever get so high? Honestly, when I'm sick, I might check my temp a couple of times a day, just because I'm sleeping the rest of the time.

    Next time Sexy Doc asks, invite him by to check your temperature at regular intervals. :D

    I'm sorry you're feeling down about your grandmother...I'm the same. Last Sunday, I started crying in the middle of church, to the point Bobby asked if I was okay.

    It's like you said--missing her voice, knowing she's not going to mail me a Christmas card or talk about her "babies", or call me her "long-stemmed American Beauty"...

    I love the relationship you had with her--sounds like you both enjoyed a good laugh, even over old jokes. That's the best kind, isn't it?