sick as a dog

I don't know why they say "sick as a dog" - do dogs get sicker than other creatures? But that's what I am. It's a big bad flu that has my body and head aching, even my eyeballs hurt, my stomach queasy though I'm hungry. I had hoped to be well enough to teach my course tonight, though I wrote to the students last night to warn them that I was ill and suggest, if I couldn't make it, they meet anyway.

They're so fabulous - that's just what they're going to do, read their stories to each other and then email them to me for further comment. What a relief I don't have to drag myself out into the cold - the first time in 23 years of teaching that I won't make it to a scheduled class. Carol is now going to go to Daniel and Daniel to try to find some bland foods I can digest, and dear Jean-Marc has just brought me the NYT and suggested I avoid the articles about El Trumpo. But, I said, that means there'll be nothing in the paper at all!

My daughter is even sicker, and she has two little kids - so much worse, poor soul. There must have been some hideous bug at the AGO! The worst was last night - I took a Tylenol Cold Nighttime AND one of my precious emergency sleeping pills, and it was as if I'd drunk two cups of coffee, my whole system speeding all through the night. In the morning I brought a cup of tea to bed and spilled it all over the comforter.

Oh, my friend the well-known writer wrote back nice things about the piece I sent her about 1967, the Summer of Love, but had no idea about where to place it. When my brain and body return, I'll get back on the case.

I always say that periodically, we all need to crash. Here's to crashing. Involuntary, yes, but necessary.