When I feel well enough to think of it, I wallow in self-pity. Then the aches and fever come back, and I can forget my self-pity for a while as I try to find a position that aches the least.
I've been in to work for 90 minutes in the past three days (honest, I tried; I just couldn't). The Excellent Wife (TEW) has been most patient; I'm tired of myself, so I can only imagine how she feels.
Back when I was a Catholic, St. Blaise was responsible for throat ailments, and, as his day comes on February 3, we used to go get the throats blessed with candles, often right at the height of flu season. It turns out he got the throat job from dislodging a fish bone rather than respiratory ailments, but then the job descriptions of the saints always seem to end with the same clause at the end of the Description of Responsibilities: "26 d: And other duties as required." (Besides, the good Irish gal, St. Dymphna, is probably good and tired of me by now. She the one who handle us crazies.)
You're glad you're not any closer to me than you are right now.
Edit Jan 21: Went to the Brunswick Urgent Care; wound up with rx for antibiotics, told to get Mucinex DM (which, although not prescription, is behind the counter because of the dextromethorphan); was also given rx for
Edit Jan 22: Over the past three days and nights, I've had a total sum of about seven hours sleep. The doc was right; I'm filling the