How Time Doesn't Fly

I wish I could make an adjustment to the Space-Time Continuum. I am ready for this sickness to progress, so I can get over it. If only time would fly by as fast as it does when I'm in a casino.

Besides the fever, which has fluctuated between 99.1 and 101.2, I have a slight headache over my eyes, pain at the base of my skull, and an upset stomach. My eating stomach, not my poop stomach. I know I need to stay hydrated, but my stomach thinks otherwise. When I contemplate taking an itty-bitty tablespoon-size sip of water, it clenches itself shut like Jerry Seinfeld's lips when his girlfriend offered him a bite of pie.

At the lower temperatures, my face is ghostly white. At 101.2, it was flaming red. I slept off and on while sitting on the short couch under The Pony's fleece throw. I felt warm and toasty, and the shaking of my hands and arms stopped.

Right now it's 3:30 on Thursday afternoon, and I've managed to eat about half a handful of dry fake Honey Nut Cheerios. Plus several sips of water. Hick has forsaken me to drive 30 miles and look at fishing plugs. Not that he's such a help to me, but he's company.

I'm trying to let the fever run its course. I figure it knows that it's doing. After all, a fever has thousands of years experience in attacking what ails people, while I only have decades. I will, however, be taking my daily aspirin after I force down a few more cheerios. It might bring the fever down for a few hours, and perhaps give me a respite from the nagging faint headache.

I don't even miss my trip to town for scratchers. It's a relief to stay home. Although this is probably the day that the Gas Station Chicken Store will sell a big winner...