I took today off from work, as I was weak and frail like a kitten from the flu. Also, my head was pounding its way out of the tops and sides of my skull, which made it...
Speaking in tongues
Damn kids. Last week, it seemed like half the cast of the show I'm stage managing was virulently ill in some way -- strep throat, bronchitis, you name it, they hacked it. Of course, they all came to rehearsal anyway, silly little over-dedicated nibs. So I knew I'd contract something, and since I used to get strep fortnightly as a kid, I guessed it would be strep again, my old buddy old pal.
God, I love being right.
I'll refrain from itemizing all the parts of me that ache, mostly because I don't think I can stay awake that long. But it sure does hurt all over, especially back there in the back of my throat. I even had a dream today that I called my old pediatrician (Dr. Hazard, I kid you not) and told him to take out my tonsils. He said OK, but that the ice cream afterwards would cost me extra. I said lay it on me. Then I got all weepy about losing my tonsils, who had been with me through so much, and Dr. Hazard was all, sic transit gloria mundi.
In my dream, I understood him, but I had to check online later, because I don't really know Latin. I know some Greek, but again, only seem to remember scraps of it in fever dreams, like when I dream I'm Demosthenes. Which I do, sometimes.
What I do know is real, and not the sweaty product of a fever dream, is that the phone rang this morning, and a woman said into my answering maching that I had won the writing contest I entered back around the end of December. I just called her back to confirm it, and it turns out I did in fact beat out about 500 other folks for the chance to read out loud at a Barnes and Noble in a couple of Sundays. I think some prize money is involved too, but I'm too dehydrated to remember.
If you're interested, I rewrote this for submission. A few of you seemed to like it, and so did I. The way I wrote it here, it's a true story. I changed the names and a few telling details for the contest. But hey, if some of my more pointed references reach the ears of some of my more pointy-headed relatives, so be it. Que sera sera. C'est la vie. Comme ci, comme ca. Tempus fugit.
I think I have to go back to bed.