One of my more consistent MS problems over the past couple years has been fatigue. You all know the drill. It's like the engine of your body is constantly running too hot. The gauge creeps relentlessly into the red and you soon begin to sputter and chug, such that you finally have to pull over to the roadside, turn the thing off, and just sit for a while.
Well, this generally lamentable situation grows much, much worse when combined with the common flu illness. Now you're not just running hot and tired. Now the damn radiator is steaming, boiling over, and the engine block has cracked and you are dead on wheels. Ugh.
So that's where I'm at. The flu has kicked MS's ass, once again demonstrating that things can be worse! I'm on hold. The virus god has pressed the pause button. And repairs are bound to take days to happen.
I have made it out for coffee this morning--unlike yesterday, when I did not leave the house at all--but so has what seems to be a pre-school class, each member of which knows no vocal tone other than the shriek, nor is subject to any form of control by the accompanying adults. The earsplitting cacophony, therefore, is blaring within the feverish recesses of my congested, cotton-packed brain, adding a whole new level to the general misery of the morning.
Again, ugh.
Methinks it is time to go home.
Well, this generally lamentable situation grows much, much worse when combined with the common flu illness. Now you're not just running hot and tired. Now the damn radiator is steaming, boiling over, and the engine block has cracked and you are dead on wheels. Ugh.
So that's where I'm at. The flu has kicked MS's ass, once again demonstrating that things can be worse! I'm on hold. The virus god has pressed the pause button. And repairs are bound to take days to happen.
I have made it out for coffee this morning--unlike yesterday, when I did not leave the house at all--but so has what seems to be a pre-school class, each member of which knows no vocal tone other than the shriek, nor is subject to any form of control by the accompanying adults. The earsplitting cacophony, therefore, is blaring within the feverish recesses of my congested, cotton-packed brain, adding a whole new level to the general misery of the morning.
Again, ugh.
Methinks it is time to go home.
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