The stomach flu is not my friend. Every joint in my body aches. It hurts to sit, to lie in bed, to stretch out on the couch with a blanket. My head throbs and occasionally slashes. I have been sleeping almost non-stop and have not had a good workout in four days. I’ll probably come out of this flue five pounds heavier just from all the fluids I drink.
I’ve also lost my ability to think coherently on one topic for more than three minutes.
This morning I began to regret that I don’t have pain killers in the house; not even a Tylenol. Seriously, I can go years and never need one, so when I do get sick, I suffer through bravely—or is that foolishly?
There seems to be a fine line between bravery and stupidity. Like one of my favorite saying: “Fools rush in where Angels fear to tread.”
I recently came across a “Fool’s Test.” It said: “This test determines how close to a true fool you are. Please wait for the test to fully load, remember to answer the questions as honestly as possible.” It had a download bar that began to move immediately, but after waiting hours (I took a long nap during the download), I was forced to recognize that I was the fool for waiting.
Why, in fiction, do people always rush into places we’d never go in real life? Such as an empty buildings at night, dark basements / attics, or long ship corridors when it is known a killer is loose? Why are ordinary places suddenly made sinister by becoming empty? I love the idea of grand mountain hotels, but I’m in no hurry to go stay at the Stanley Hotel in Estes Park, Colorado. In the winter.
Only a fool tests the depth of water with both feet.
Or thinks the stomach flu is in some way a good thing.
Or tries to blog when they can’t think clearly. (I began this in the morning and it is now dinner time.)