Flu report. very boring
DH had to go to the doctor after three days home to get a letter saying that he really is sick. The company he works for is inhumane. He still has too call in every night to tell them he won't be at work the next day. He has the flu for cry sakes! He won't get well overnight.
I keep nibbling, trying to find something that will taste good. He just quits eating. He has lost 15 pounds so far. I'm down 7. There's food in the house, but it just doesn't appeal. Even tea tastes wrong. Jello and orange juice keep the system fueled. I know I'm sick when I want Jello. I had a pickle last night. That tasted pretty good.
I keep spiking a fever, then breaking a sweat. Thank GOD for my robot servants, the washer and dryer. I am running through two or three nightgowns in a twelve hour period. It feels so good to get out of a hot bath, all clean and fresh, and slide into a soft clean nightgown. I have a bath towel in the bed to keep from sweat-soaking the mattress, and that, of course, adds to the laundry. The dining room table is covered with stuff that is clean and dry and needs to be folded. We can sort through and pull out what we need. I don't have the energy or the motivation to fold and put it all away.
And thank God for the dishwasher. All those glasses and cups don't clean themselves.
The TV isn't getting much use. He plays world of Warcraft, and I flop around on Facebook, but daytime TV just doesn't appeal. I'm listening to Audiobooks and knitting a bit, but I keep nodding off. I listened to a version of "Jurassic Park."It was and abridgment of the book based on the movie, based on the book, and even through I have read the original book, then seen the movie more than once, I still couldn't follow the abridged version. Audiobooks does so much better with the full book. I am now listening to "The Truth" by Terry Pratchet, and vastly enjoying every bit. One reader creates, with voice, tempo and accent, a huge, distinct repertoire of identifiable characters. I almost said, a menagerie of characters, because one of them is a dog, and just from the sound of his voice, you know he is a small, cynical, self-pitying mongrel that will still come through, begrudgingly, when push comes to shove. He may bite you, but he won't tear away chunks of flesh.
The cats are quite happy to have us both warm and horizontal. It's Friday already and a whole week has just vanished into this void of droop. I need to . . . ah, heck. I need another nap.