I feel a little unwell at the beginning of the week, but it passes, and I let down my guard. As it turns out, the microscopic fiends that made a scouting mission through my innards have retreated only to regroup, bring in reinforcements, and launch a surprise attack.
The outside world is crunchy. The streets crackle with ice, the snow on the curb crumbles to a fine powder on the sidewalk. The air has a clean healthy bite to it.
When I get to the room, no one is there. I'm glad I decide to stay. Had I chosen to leave right then and there, instead of bobbing around by the door in a state of indetermination, I would have missed out on an interesting hour of learning.
Apple juice, plain and sweet, waiting in a glass bottle at the bottom of the grocery bag.
I'm running a fever and need to walk across the room. My head is somewhere near the ceiling, and I'm not sure if my feet are touching the ground.
T.V. is suddenly interesting. My patience for commercials seems limitless. Look at that shiny clean pan, that washer and dryer set, that lovely meteorologist swooping around in front of a map with low frozen numbers on it. As long as I don't have to peel myself off the couch and fall back into bed I'm good. Just let me stay here for a while.
I'm so thankful she's here. She makes a weak tea that I can keep down. She goes out into the slippery unplowed world to get some necessities from the convenience store. She tells me I'm certifiably insane for thinking that I can go to class in my condition. She makes excellent plain white rice and chicken broth. When I'm at my lowest point she's there.