the flu chronicles

Worse. I don't know how it happened, but rather than better, I am sicker. Perhaps this is what it is to be a teacher and a former actress - the show must go on. I had to teach yesterday afternoon, so I got dressed - very warmly - rode my bike to U of T, had an absolutely wonderful class with eleven fine writers, and rode back, stopping at Daniel and Daniel to buy a large tub of chicken soup, which just may save my life. It felt good to be in the fall sunshine.

Bruce brought take-out Indian food for dinner, delicious though I couldn't eat much. I insisted on making him watch a re-run of "The West Wing" at 8, since he had NEVER SEEN IT - such brilliant TV, could have been written yesterday. And then we watched the previous day's Jon Stewart and Colbert on his computer - Jon interviewed the legendary Pete Townshend of the Who, a wise and witty man in grey cashmere who has just written an autobiography, hard to imagine him smashing guitars - and by then, I was feeling really lousy.

Then followed the coughing night from hell. 2.30 a.m., staggered to the kitchen and made tea with lemon and scoops of honey. Nothing has ever tasted better.

This morning, my voice is so low that on the phone, my mother told me I sound like a gay man. I ache all over and look like ... well, just not so good. This is a first, this flu. There is no mucus in this illness, just aching and a vile dry cough and exhaustion and sore eyes. And lack of appetite, that's the real shocker. I am not hungry. It's so unusual, it's disturbing.

Sorry, this is the most boring post I have ever written. Enough. A decision has been made - our trip to Ottawa Friday has been postponed a week. I will cancel various things, inform various people, and sink with relief back into my Dame aux Camelias pillows.

And now, my Brucie has just departed - on his way back to Vancouver. I am bereft.

Aaah. Dark chocolate. Some remedies never fail.