Last night as I was walking to Farragut to meet Rudi for Restaurant Week (another post, I promise), I started to feel a little off.

No matter, thought I. It’s just that I’m outside walking and it’s finally cold again and my nose is running. We had a nice dinner and walked home.

As the rest of the evening progressed, I again started to feel unwell and began to fear that the sickness that had felled Rudi, my folks, and Gramma had finally caught up to me.

No matter, thought I. It’s Monday and I’m tired. I’ll go to bed early. And I did.

When Rudi woke me up this morning, I was in agony. I was woozy and it felt like Rudi had spent all night punching my left side. (He assured me that he did not, and although I’m a heavy sleeper, I’m almost positive that I would wake up to that.)

I ate breakfast. That hurt. I coughed. That hurt. I sneezed. That hurt.

Fine, thought I. I’ll take a hot shower and I’ll feel better.

You can guess where this is going, right?

I did not feel better. I got back into bed and called in sick. Less than five minutes later (after finding a position that was somewhat comfortable to lie in), I was back asleep.

When I next opened my eyes, it was 1:30. I rolled over, found another position, and closed my eyes again. It was after 3 when I next looked up.

Fine, thought I. I’m done being sick now. I’ll go read some email and knit and read the rest of my play. I got up, went out to the living room, brewed some tea. Sitting in my rocking chair hurt, so I moved to the couch. My tea sat half drunk as I slept again.

Rudi called and offered to pick up some of my favorite sick soup on his way home. I went back to sleep. He arrived home and started cooking for me. I went back to sleep.

He gave me ibuprofen and soup and reheated my tea.

Oh, is that what this is?

I’ve been awake for a whole six hours now and will shortly be taking more ibuprofen and going to bed.

No matter, say I. I’ll be fine.