For the last eight days I have been ill. So ill that I have hardly stirred from my bed, where I was wrapped in a cocoon of misery, pain, and dreadful feverish chills. At times I have felt as though, despite the duvets and quilts, I was sitting naked in a deep freezer, this moderated at times so that I felt that perhaps I was in a salad crisper drawer...
My mind has been all over the place, giving me deeply unhelpful short dreams of immense craziness, a product of the fever, I guess.
I feel as weak as a newborn, but then I have been unable to eat for almost all of that time. Last night I managed to nibble on a slice of dry toast. This morning I crunched a Golden Delicious apple which tasted amazin...how pathetic is that? Golden Delicious?
Enough of all that, though. I still feel dreadful but at least I don't feel as though I'm about to check out from life, although the toast and the apple may have been a mistake, nausea is returni
After an exhausting morning of bathing and dressing, I have permitted myself half an hour on the computer before I head back to my bed. A week of not reading my emails has resulted in more chaos in my inbox than I feel up to, so I thought I'd have a chat instead. Trouble is, now I feel too cream crackered to continue.
Time for bed.