This Decade is Not Off to a Good Start

These past few days have been long. Really long. Epic. I’ve had the flu (swine or plain, I’m not sure. “It doesn’t matter,” I was told, “the treatment is the same.” But way deep down I wanted it to be swine flu so I could be bad-ass and trendy. So since I’ll never know: I have swine flu. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it).

I haven’t really left the bedroom, and I haven’t left the house since New Years Eve. The end result is that the rest of the house looks like a tornado hit it. “When you stop functioning, I do, too.” Rob said. No shit.
To be fair, he’s been doing a wonderful job taking care of me, and he makes a mean cup of chamomile tea. But the house is close to being declared a disaster area.

I’ve had amazing, vivid fever-dreams about all sorts of things: there was one in which I owned a giant pumpkin farm, another where I kept a collection of exotic big cats in an old mansion, and one where I went halfsies on an eggplant parm sandwich with President Obama. I wouldn’t normally mention them, but they feel so real.

Leeloo has been my near-constant companion. I think she’s worried about me. They’ve all been in and out of bed with me for the past few days, but Leeloo especially keeps peeking at me with luminous eyes, wondering if I’m ok.

I have a friend who is an MD, and we called him pretty late Saturday night for advice. He gave me a regimen to follow, and I’m starting to come around. Horray for kind doctor friends! Joey, if you ever need to start a podcast, call me. I owe you.