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Thursday night in the sickhouse...
Aug. 27th, 2004 12:46 amMy fever broke a couple of hours ago. Thank god. But you would never have known it, as it's hot in the house, and I'm sweating on G.P. But thank god that bit of nutsiness is done with. If my head is going to be that goofy, I want it to be from alcohol, adrenaline, or just general sleep deprivation. Fevers feel weird, and not right, and they fuck with you.
Sure, when I've not slept for three days straight, I start seeing things out of the corner of my eyes--indefinable shapes like bugs, or rats. Sometimes I get the creepy crawlies. Heck, I've even had long un-remembered conversations with Mr. Cool Toilet bowl, after long night out with the bottle. But at least I don't lay in bed in the middle of the night trying to sing away the Stone Monsters from the dark corners of my room. Or have long bursts of weepiness over the heat in my head. Or the heat. Or just the feeling of a tenthousand pound, invisible Gorilla sitting on my head and squeezing. Or the strange sudden dizziness that takes over when you're standing there talking and then *swooon*.
16 more pills to take. Must. Take. All.
Now I can bear another day, with my Grandmother and not be intolerant. I love her, I do, but what's only mildly "whatever" annoying is intensified to sheer "Dear Lord, my head is going to explode, leave me alone already!" This is partly because it's usually the same question like "Baby, do you want to eat something?" or "Stew Baby, can I get something for you?" repeated four times in short shrift. And it is even more so because of drifting in and out of fevered sleep, you don't realize that it was 2 hours ago she asked you this last, and not 2 minutes.
I had a wonderful moment, about an hour ago, when I put something other than water into my stomach for the first time in nearly three days. Food, sweet, wonderful food. Even if it was only beef barley. But it had pieces of meet in it, and I had to chew, and I could swallow without shuddering. Now it's only a mild shapish-discomfort, one that I can ignore now.
Motrin is your friend.
I'm tired, but awake. Though not as bad as last night. When I tried to go to sleep at 11, tired and headachy as I was. But I kept waking up, seemingly every half hour. From some discomfort (like swallowing in my sleep), or movement, or brain ripple, or thought of persons not present. This went on until 6 this morning, when I got up and moved to the comfy chair in the living room. Where I finally found real sleep. At least until my grandmother woke me up to ask if I was okay.
There was one point today when I thought I was seeing things, but in fact it was real. My grandma has adopted this thin, greyish-silver stray cat. It's been coming closer and closer to the house, and more comfortable when she's around. Not fleeing and such, only backing off and waiting for Gran to put out milk and food. She's recently taken to coming up to the screen door and waiting bayfully. I knew about this, but also knew that I had, in fact, been seeing things earlier in the day, and had misplaced my glasses as a result of it. Needless to say, I thought it was merely my eyes when I saw two tiny versions of this cat crawling around on the porch. Followed by a third. It took a moment before I realized that the Silver Grey Cat had brought her litter to visit. Sure, it was the simple conclusion, but I wasn't all that there.
I pointed out to Granny Mary that she had more "family" outside, and she started to coo...until she realized that they have taken up residence in the garage...with a Tom Tom...
It's funny how being sick just leaves you with all this time. Not good, solid, productive time, or relaxing time. Mostly, it's like jail time, I recon. There's stuff to be done. Stuff you can do. And a lot more that you're just not up to. Nothing to do but think. And even that's muddled by illness itself. Or maybe that's just me. I don't know. Thinking. About stuff. As filtered through The Fear and Paranoia that fever can be so kind to offer.
Why the hell have I been documenting this so diligently?
Sure, when I've not slept for three days straight, I start seeing things out of the corner of my eyes--indefinable shapes like bugs, or rats. Sometimes I get the creepy crawlies. Heck, I've even had long un-remembered conversations with Mr. Cool Toilet bowl, after long night out with the bottle. But at least I don't lay in bed in the middle of the night trying to sing away the Stone Monsters from the dark corners of my room. Or have long bursts of weepiness over the heat in my head. Or the heat. Or just the feeling of a tenthousand pound, invisible Gorilla sitting on my head and squeezing. Or the strange sudden dizziness that takes over when you're standing there talking and then *swooon*.
16 more pills to take. Must. Take. All.
Now I can bear another day, with my Grandmother and not be intolerant. I love her, I do, but what's only mildly "whatever" annoying is intensified to sheer "Dear Lord, my head is going to explode, leave me alone already!" This is partly because it's usually the same question like "Baby, do you want to eat something?" or "Stew Baby, can I get something for you?" repeated four times in short shrift. And it is even more so because of drifting in and out of fevered sleep, you don't realize that it was 2 hours ago she asked you this last, and not 2 minutes.
I had a wonderful moment, about an hour ago, when I put something other than water into my stomach for the first time in nearly three days. Food, sweet, wonderful food. Even if it was only beef barley. But it had pieces of meet in it, and I had to chew, and I could swallow without shuddering. Now it's only a mild shapish-discomfort, one that I can ignore now.
Motrin is your friend.
I'm tired, but awake. Though not as bad as last night. When I tried to go to sleep at 11, tired and headachy as I was. But I kept waking up, seemingly every half hour. From some discomfort (like swallowing in my sleep), or movement, or brain ripple, or thought of persons not present. This went on until 6 this morning, when I got up and moved to the comfy chair in the living room. Where I finally found real sleep. At least until my grandmother woke me up to ask if I was okay.
There was one point today when I thought I was seeing things, but in fact it was real. My grandma has adopted this thin, greyish-silver stray cat. It's been coming closer and closer to the house, and more comfortable when she's around. Not fleeing and such, only backing off and waiting for Gran to put out milk and food. She's recently taken to coming up to the screen door and waiting bayfully. I knew about this, but also knew that I had, in fact, been seeing things earlier in the day, and had misplaced my glasses as a result of it. Needless to say, I thought it was merely my eyes when I saw two tiny versions of this cat crawling around on the porch. Followed by a third. It took a moment before I realized that the Silver Grey Cat had brought her litter to visit. Sure, it was the simple conclusion, but I wasn't all that there.
I pointed out to Granny Mary that she had more "family" outside, and she started to coo...until she realized that they have taken up residence in the garage...with a Tom Tom...
It's funny how being sick just leaves you with all this time. Not good, solid, productive time, or relaxing time. Mostly, it's like jail time, I recon. There's stuff to be done. Stuff you can do. And a lot more that you're just not up to. Nothing to do but think. And even that's muddled by illness itself. Or maybe that's just me. I don't know. Thinking. About stuff. As filtered through The Fear and Paranoia that fever can be so kind to offer.
Why the hell have I been documenting this so diligently?
