I feel pretty

HA!

So, like, I have this flu, and so, I'll spare you the details, but every single muscle aches, and I'm experiencing hot flashes early in life, I guess, except when I'm shaking so hard with the chills that if I don't stop myself I'll shake myself right off the bed. I'm conscious of every breath I take, and in fact, I rather hate having to take the next breath because it hurts, and so me, sitting up (very gingerly) at this keyboard?

FUGEDABOUTIT!

(um, actually, I don't remember any of my relatives actually every saying that)

And those are the pleasantries. I am SO NOT describing my full-on sprints to the bathroom.

And it's almost noon and I've just now gotten up from bed and I looked at myself in my half mirror and see this ... I don't know ... not-quite-making it survivor: sunken eyes, gaping mouth, hunched shoulders, matted hair, sweat shirt and sweat pants.

Headliner: WASHINGTON D.C. PARALYZED BY FLU AS ANGRY CUSTOMERS DEMAND THEIR LATTES FROM EMPTIED SBUXEN!

It's like everybody is sick and I am SO NOT going into work today. Sorry.

Actually, don't worry, there are people there; you can get your coffees, okay? and why the ... (nice word?) ... am I nerving about this when it hurts just to sit up and type?

So I look like a mess, I am a mess, and I feel worse.

But so what? I have the flu, so I'll get better, or I'll die (a very real option even still today, and have you read historical fiction?), so next week, it won't matter. So why should it matter today?

It doesn't. I've resolved to rest, to start sipping water again today (VERY TENTATIVELY), and ... write this entry.

And then I get a PM from Saga, that says she's going out for the weekend, and what she hopes for me?

I hope and pray that you are more then well; I hope you are happy, bouncy and giggly and so flirty that your customers blushes and fidgets in their chairs. And the pretty girls bites their lips and steal glances at you when they think you're not looking, and asks for a refill, and another, and another… And knowing how very loved you are makes you straighten your back and hold your head high, so everyone will know: this girl is loved. This girl is growing.

And, so, yes, obviously, Saga has never been to an sbux, so like she and I are totally incompatible. Oops! Getting into my next entry! Sorry! But isn't that sweet? I resolve to be beautiful in the face of all the evidence to the contrary of how I feel and what my mirror reflects, and the world, this one time, plays along with my resolve.

Excuse me, tears are welling up, and that hurts, too, so I'm going back to bed.

kisses for you (don't worry, they're air-kisses through the sanitized medium of the internet)
'phfina

p.s. Sixth day dry: clean and sober. I do feel somber, but not very clean. Maybe a shower will do me good?