I had a fleeting visit to Fleet to see family, came back and promptly got sick. It is my sincere hope that I did not pass this on to anyone else. Last night, radiator full-on, clothes on, in bed, shivering like winter. The only way to stop was to put my socked feet directly on the radiator. This morning the polar opposite. Thankfully I was not working this morning, so I slept till about 10, at which point I woke in gallons of my own sweat, feeling that the fever had left. It hasn't quite though. I just ravished three oranges as if my life depended on it. Hot cup of tea to scare the sore throat into submission and I'm done for the night.
Nothing much else to report. I'm afraid life here is being a bit dull. When I'm fully better (which might entail ravishing several dozen more oranges) this needs to change. Tired and sick; not sick and tired, but it's much the same thing. I didn't move all this bloody way to be bored.
That old bastard Friedrich Nietzsche (or possibly Kanye West) said 'That which does not kill us makes us stronger'. This is, of course, complete bollocks. That which does not kill you can wear you down by degrees until you don't really feel anything at all, and you are just sort of an automaton that eats crisps. The eating of crisps is all well and good but the automaton part, not so much.
What I'm thinking is that I have to keep working the same routine steps as if I'm learning a dance, and once I am confident that I have that bit down, I'll move onto the next combination. Or something profound like that.