Blogging From Bed

by

There is only so much video a girl can watch.

I am sick.

Better than I was yesterday at this time.  Which was not so hot.

Or.

I should say very hot.

I had a raging fever.  Raging.  I have no idea how I got sick, what hit me, or where it came from, but it was on.  And there was no escaping it.

The only way through something, sometimes, is just that, through it.

I lay in Mrs. Fishkin’s bed, she rescued me from work, and shivered and slept and hallucinated.  I have not been that feverish in years, decades, maybe.

I was not feeling myself when I woke up Friday morning, but I chalked it up to being tired.  I was pretty awake after Thursday evenings loveliness and so I was up later than I normally would be.

My mind was racing and feverish, I can see that now, I was probably already ill it just had not quite hit.

I could not fall asleep as I was obsessed with building my next bicycle in my mind–raw frame, glossy clear coat with irridescant shimmer over lay, Velocity B43 in White rims, Deep V for the front wheel, white hubs, chrome spokes, white Copenhagen porter, Sugino Mirror Crankset, Brooks B18 saddle in Antique Brown with matching grips.

Truly a thing of beauty, something to ride around the markets of Paris with, maybe something to ride through the South of France with.

Up way past my bedtime and I was already up way past my bedtime.

I got to work and felt wonky.

But I did not think anything of it, just figured it was the end of work week blues and I was tired.

I was more than tired I was about to enter the 9th circle of hell.

I did not eat my mid-morning snack, lost my appetite, in fact I put off eating my lunch, did not feel good.  I made a cup of tea, but did not drink it, note to self, these are cues something is wrong.

I ate half my lunch and thought I was going to throw up.

I noodled with the idea of laying down in the conference room upstairs.  In fact, I even clocked out to do so.

But my co-workers were there and when I walked in on them working with the detritus of their lunches on the conference work table I just about lost my cookies.  I excused myself and sat my ass down in the window sill outside the doorway and put my head beneath my knees.

Tears started to fall.

Something is wrong, abort, abort, abort.

My co-workers came out and said go home, take the BART home, go rest.  I could not fathom pulling my bike out to get on it to ride the three blocks to BART.

I could not.

Then, my heroine, Mrs. Fishkin, came to the rescue.  She scooped me up, took me to her house, and tucked me into bed.

Sleep.

First, cold can’t get warm sleep.  Freezing toes, freezing hands, aching body.  Slept with my hoodie on and my tights underneath a pile of comforter.  Yellow light hazy soft through the curtains, tossing in and out, and rolling over.

Aching.

If I lay still I did not hurt.

If I lay still I could pretend I was on a pillow of children’s laughter and warm and safe and secure.

Get up and at least go to their couch my feverish brain told me, don’t take their bed.

I could not get up.

I fell asleep and drifted in and out on pillows of children laughing co-mingled with Giants fans hollering and hooting.

The house is next to a playground and across the street from the play ground and down half a block is the Phoenix Bar.

I slept.

I slept some more.

I got up around after dark, I have no idea what time it was.  Their sitter was there and the baby, not such a baby, she is so tall, gone to bed.  I actually had to get help getting back from the bathroom to the bed.

It was five feet.

It could have been five miles.

I cried and leaned on her arm.

I sat down, sipped some water and fell over and back into bed crying.

I fell asleep.

I woke up.

Hot.

Oh my god.

So hot.

I took off the sweatshirt and my tights and burst into tears from the effort.

Arin came back, again, I do not know what time, but later, I guess later will suffice.  She gave me ibuprofen and ice packs I cried and went back to sleep.

I woke up this morning at 8a.m.

Dutiful employee that I am, my alarm was already set to get up to go to work.  But there was no going into work.

There was only going back to bed.

Until 1:20p.m. this afternoon.

Tea, oatmeal, banana, more tea.

Hot bath.

Mrs. Fishkin giving me ride back to Oakland.

I lost a full day and now it feels like I lost two.

I hate being sick.  It seems like a wonderful thing to lay in bed all day and all night, but, frankly, it’s fucking exhausting.

And with that, I am crawling back in.

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