Oh, What a Beautiful Morning...

Aren't I a lucky girl. I managed to catch another flu right after the first one was almost completely gone. I woke up this morning (the fact that it was before 6 a.m. really should have alerted me that all was not well) feeling slightly feverish, so I grabbed the thermometer, stuffed it under my arm and expected the result to be slightly over my normal temperature, so that it'd be perfectly all right to go to school and the only symptom would be a tiny increase in grumpyness.

Whaddaya know. The thermometer proudly showed some 38,5 degrees temperature.

So no school today, and if the fever does not settle over the day, I'm going to have to miss work tomorrow. It's just that I really do not have the time to be sick. I can only miss a few lessons, or I will fail my courses. Thank goodness there are some sensible teachers, so I'll be able to negotiate something.

Bollocks, still.

I hate flu. I loathe it. And the worst part is, that when you are single and ill, there's no one to complain to. An important part of the healing process, wallowing in misery, is completely missed. If you want chicken soup, you do it yourself. And before that you'll have to go to the store to get the ingredients for said soup, since there's nothing in the fridge but light. I could call my mother to score some sympathy points, but it's not like she'd rush to my bedside to dab my forehead with a cool cloth. "Oh, dear," she'd say. "Drink a lot of warm blackcurrant juice and rest." It's just not the same. I'd still have to go buy the juice myself. It's every human's undisputed right to be pampered when ill.

This is also exactly the time you'll miss the good old family doctors you see in old Hollywood movies. You know the type, dressed in reassuring brown tweed suits, they stay by the sick, speaking in reassuring bedside baritone. "Quickly! We need more ice! Her life is in danger!" Then there'd be some forehead-dabbing and eating of nourishing broth.

Then again, that'd mean that I'd have to wear a white silk nightgown instead of my grubby old pajamas. And my bed would have to be one of those big cast iron jobs with massive decorations and cool, crisp white sheets, which is most definitely not what it is.

But I guess my fever is going away, my eyes still feel a bit odd but my spine is no longer burning. I'll head down to the store, get me some nourishing chocolate and then probably call my mom and have a good whine.

Today's top track choises. Peggy Lee: Fever; Oomph! and Nina Hagen: Fieber.