I don’t feel well.

I don’t have the swine flu (unless the media REALLY exaggerated how severe it is), but I do have a low fever, an ugly cough and from that cough an extra dose of head pain. Because I needed that.

And most importantly, this has made me into a whiny, cry-y mess.

Yesterday I went to school in the morning, which was a terrible idea. I got up at 5:45 and by the time I got on the train at 6:30 realized what a monumental mistake I made. But then I looked at the train schedule and realized that the earliest I could go home was on an 11:20 train, but only if I made the 11:00 shuttle.

I made it through library training from 8-10, I did the practice patient interview at 10:30 and then I ran (another TERRIBLE decision) and caught the 11:00 bus and subsequently the 11:20 train.

I’ve had a lot of miserable train rides, but that was the worst. I had chills so badly that I was noticeably shaking. My headache was worse than it had ever been before, ever. I mean literally, it was the worst headache I’ve ever had (when you cough, you increase your intracranial pressure, and increasing mine (even if I don’t have the pseudotumor) is hard on my brain) and I just wanted to go to sleep.

And of course they added a stop on my route (the fair is in town?) so it took even longer to get home. I was home by 12:30 and fell into bed without taking off anything but my shoes. I slept like a rock until 3:30. I felt better when I got up, but not good. I did some work (from bed) and went to bed. And slept until 10:30, which, as God is my witness, is the latest I remember sleeping ever. I think I ate like 500 calories yesterday at best, I just don’t feel like eating anything. Even cake doesn’t sound good.

Yes, the was the earth coming to a screeching halt.

And I’ve been lying in bed all day and trying to decide whether or not to go to the big football game today. Slappy was stuck at work (because staying home from work when sick is what REASONABLE people do) for 34 hours and in the end, we just shouldn’t be at the game. For both our sakes. And I know that. And yet, I’m a weepy mess. It’s a fucking football game. Not a championship game, just a game. But my rational side seems to be pushed down by this low grade fever and I’m struggling to rise above it.

How ridiculous do you have to be to cry over a football game? I say VERY.

So I’m sitting on my couch (Slappy is asleep in bed), sipping tea, watching tv and studying.

And feeling sorry for myself. And maybe crying. Definitely crying.

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