Oink, oink?

So. Here I am. In bed. Again.

Remember my last post? Happy, positive, energetic? Well, just put that on hold and revive it next week.

I have swine flu. Maybe. I have the flu, that's for certain. I spent two hours at urgent care Monday night with a high fever. Only, for young, hale and healthy college students like me, they don't test for the H1N1 virus. They just give you TamiFlu and tell you to avoid contact with the outside world for a few days.

So, here I am. An invalid, lounging in my room waiting for my body to stop disagreeing with me.

Yesterday I spent the day in a stupor. Mostly I slept. Today I feel well enough to at least pick up a book (hello class readings!). I might even have the energy to work on my application essay for London. (For the benefit of my Chicago Ant: I am applying for a semester-long study abroad program in London next semester. If I get in, I will be living in Kensington, taking classes though FIE, and I'll have an internship the second half of the semester. I intend to take a course in Shakespeare, and I do hope that I'll be able to go see my ancestral lands. You and Grasshopper and who ever else wants to come should visit me there so we can all go together.)

I have plans for productivity. So far, though, I've been knitting and watching Anthony Bourdain.

I think getting sick was partially the universe telling me to lighten up a little. I know what I said in my last post. But my battle with perfectionism is a one step forward, two steps back kind of thing. I really managed to string myself out over the weekend. Getting sick always reminds me that everything will be okay, even if I'm forced to drop a ball here and there from the juggling act. I just wish I could hold onto that better (or maybe find an easier way to be reminded).

I'd just like to say that, even though I hate being sick, there are some perks. One is that lying in my room all day with the window open (bless you, mother nature, for cooling things off this week) has led to me to discover the joys of open-window eavesdropping. I may be on the top floor, but I can hear with perfect clarity all that is said below my window. It is very entertaining. Invisible boy below my window: I don't know who you are or what you look like. But I heard you bragging to your friend about how you had sex in the bathroom on the second floor of the telecommunications building at three in the morning. I'm not impressed.

That is all for now, faithful (or not-so-faithful) readers. More later.