I could let this bridge wash out and never make amends.

My immune system is pretty good -- usually if I start to feel the hint of sickness, if I go home right away and nap, it stays away. But damn, when isht gets me, it gets me good. I had a cold all day Friday and Saturday, but spent that day running errands to prepare for performing. I performed, stayed out until 2 am, went to sleep around 4 am, and on Sunday mostly took it easy but still did some stuff around the house. Eh, I'm getting better, right? Which means on Monday morning I slept in some but then went up to Evanston and worked for 6 hours, which was great, except I got home and damn, it hurts really badly when i cough. Hey, guess what that is? When you have a cold then it leaves everywhere but the lungs? Bronchitis. Woot. So I stayed in yesterday. And today. And thought I was doing better except then I felt worse....and then I puked. It was strange and out of nowhere. I think it was somehow related to blood sugar and metabolism being off. Because within an hour I was eating something, eating some more, eating a lot, and realized, hey, my appetite is back, which is usually a sign of recovery. Knock on wood.

In the meantime, I watched Live Flesh, read several milblogs, nearly finished Ian McEwan's Atonement, had lots of surreal feverish dreams, and played lots and lots of We Love Katamari. Oh, and finally some writing. Somewhere in there I managed to have a miscommunication/blowup in a walk-down-memory-lane or haven't-we-been-here-before? sort of way that's still under my skin, 12 hours later. Oh, also in there had a bit of hot sex. I like sick sex. Assuming I'm not THAT sick. It's a fine line, really.

Tomorrow I leave the house.