Last night a telemarketer called up and kicked off the conversation by asking how I was doing. "I'm sick," I said, having resolved to either be totally honest with telemarketers or lie outright.
"You don't have SARS, do you?" he asked. Ha ha ha ha ha. You've certainly got your own "comedy stylings" there, kid. So of course today, having called in sick to work because I feel like something a dog threw up, I checked out the SARS FAQ. I do in fact have the symptoms; they're just in reverse order. I now have a fever and physical discomfort which was preceded by a couple of weeks of a dry, "unproductive" cough. (I'm not sure I've ever had a wholly productive cough.) I could hardly get out of bed, which for all I know could be a symptom of not enough oxygen getting to my blood. OMG I TOTALLY HAVE SARS! Damn you, young telemarketer man!
I'm always fascinated by the way my dreaming mind interprets the things that are happening to my body when I'm ill. Before I fell asleep last night I read a few pages of The Three Musketeers, and was visited all night long by fever dreams in which my sore throat and sneezing were translated into events in the rivalry between King and Cardinal. Look, it made sense at the time. I hate being sick so I'll take whatever entertainment I can from it.
I watched a couple of episodes of Blind Date while eating lunch. I'd never seen it before. What a great show! (Or it is when you're in my slightly delirious state of mind.) Maybe some people watch it to see the dates crash and burn, but I was mentally comparing myself to the guys on the dates and wondering if I could do better. I'm pretty sure I would have had a shot with the beautiful neuroscience major. I mean, in some reality where I'm not married. Or in my mid-30s. And a contestant on Blind Date.