Late Tuesday afternoon, feeling a little tired, I stopped at Craigville Beach on the way from the office to mind the grandkids.
By the time I got to their house, I was a trainwreck.
My grandchildren hovered around while my DIL tried to convince me to get my germ-ridden self the heck out of her house. The oldest, bless his good little heart, tried to convince her that they could “take care of Grandma” while she went about her business, then he made me the sweetest card.
This strain of influenza must be one that they missed in last season’s flu shots. And anyway, it’s MAY, ferpetessake, four months after the “official” end of the epidemic.
Wherever it came from, this “bug” is a doozey: chills, fever, muscle aches, joint pains, headache. It turns your GI tract into a two-way spigot.
My across-the-street neighbor tells me the flu hospitalized a friend of hers and disabled one of her sisters for two weeks. I believe it.
The beating of viral flaggella on the brain stem must be the cause of fitful “sleep” and hallucinations, everything from the Gerber Baby to the Empress Josephine. One night, I had horrible, unrelenting visions of the ugly content management application I’m trying to write – that alone was enough to make a sane person completely whacked.
Fortunately, the things that I HAD to do either got done, or were postponed, or rendered unnecessary.
And the card’s a keeper:
Roses are red
Violets are blue
I love someone
And she is you.
Hope you feel better soon.
Love, Bob