I am melting.
Just like the witch from Gone with the Wind.
Or maybe she was from The Wizard of Oz.
I’m running a 102.5 degree temperature, so I cannot be certain of anything.
Except that I am sweating profusely.
And horking up large portions of lung at regular intervals.
Or possibly horking up my shoes.
Because it hurts so bad, it must be coming all the way from the ground.
Sadly, even though I caught this flu from a client, I cannot claim horking as billable hours.
Seems there is no client code for horking.
And that’s just so wrong.
I’m not sure why I keep thinking about Flying Monkeys and the Evil Witch from Desperate Housewives.
I mean from Wizard of Oz.
I guess my flu-cinations are of the Judy Garland sort.
Makes sense. We had the same shoe size. And, no, I am not going to tell you how I know that.
Today’s nostalgic moment was taking my temperature with an old-fashioned glass thermometer, because it’s all I could find.
After finding the right pair of glasses so that I could see the mercury at 102.5, with a bullet, I flung the thermometer (flang it?) across the room while trying to shake it down.
I don’t seem to be able to snap my wrist the way Mom could. Well, at least I didn’t bite it in half like the last time, when I was a younger flying monkey.
But I would like to go on record by saying that mercury does not always kill you dead, despite what your Mother says.
I’m pretty sick of sweating to death in bed, and horking up my feet, so I started calling the Crack Puppy “Toto” and clicking my collector’s edition red high heels together, while saying , “There’s no place like home. There is no place like home.”
I figured if I could get to Oklahoma, I know my sisters would load me up with natural remedies, like moonshine poultices.
But it didn’t work. I’m still sweating profusely in New Zealand, not Sooner Land.
Guess the shoe clicking thing only works if your passport is current and you’re on the Yellow Brick Road.
I guess this gunk will be around for four or five days, unless it turns into the bubonic plague.
The doctor gave me antibiotics and the stern warning to ONLY take them if my flu turns into a bacterial infection or I become a flying monkey.
I’m pretty sure that’s what he said.
I suppose I could ask the nurse lady in white to tell me if I cross the infection line. She’s such a nice lady. I’ve no idea how she floats right through my wall.
But I do worry that she might get confused, because I seem to have turned into three little guys due to the fever. How will she know which one is me? I can’t even tell.
Stupid sweaty flu-cinations.
But I do like the red shoes.