Hot Hot Hot

A fever is your body's way of saying f*** y** to a virus or other invader. Or maybe it's the other way around. I could check it out, but I've got too high a fever to handle that much intellectual processing.

Yes, I have the flu, and I hate it.

If my posts seem even more incoherent than normal lately, that's the excuse I'm sticking to. I'm pretty sure that intellectual processing gets very murky somewhere over the 103 F mark, which is where I spike every time my tylenol fix runs out. At that point, reality and some aspects of oddly abstract fantasy seem to blend. At 103.9 (measured after I got out of bed and took a couple of acetominophen) my current planning imperatives (whether I would get up and freeze) seemed to be embedded on one of those multidirectional circular control disks - sort of a pie chart with choices.

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