I’ve spent most of the last twenty-four hours sleeping and breathing through my mouth. Now my lips are chapped, my tongue is raw, and my throat hurts. When I got up this afternoon to eat something, I became so nauseated, I made my way to the bathroom and collapsed on the floor beside the toilet, ready for anything. Now that part is better. Maybe it was the plague, maybe it was the medication, maybe I just needed to eat something. Regardless, my eyeballs still hurt. Who even knew that was possible? Hell hath no furry like the flu.

I’ve been thinking how grateful I am for central heat and air. And Ibuprofen. A hundred years ago this could have been much more miserable. Granted, they did have opiates, but I think I would have died back then. I can’t imagine living through The Grapes of Wrath, especially with “the influenza.” I’m just too delicate. I need indoor plumbing, a thermostat, and–while we’re at it–a microwave.

I guess it’s what you get used to. Earlier today I was thinking that having the flu has become my “new normal.” It’s tough for me to imagine things being any different, things improving. That’s how pervasive this is. I just feel so–deflated. I’m not trying to be dramatic. (I really don’t have to try.) The fact that I’ve been sick for the last four months, I’m sure, is the main reason why getting the flu has really let the wind out of my sails. As the saying goes, when it rains–it pours.

I’m trying to trust that one day this storm will come to an end. I know my body has successfully navigated difficult waters before, so surely it can do it again. Surely this ship wasn’t made for sinking.