Last night was supposed to be open mic night for me. I was gonna go out for the evening and enjoy a beer and guitar playing. Then I started getting a bit dizzy. You feel hot, Holly said. She grabbed the thermometer and jammed it in my ear. 101.3Ëš. The other ear: 101.3Ëš. Damn. No open mic night for me. I lied on the couch until about 9. Then meandered home and plopped into bed. This morning I got scones delivered to my door along with a hug from my favorite son. Now I lounge around the house deciding which movie I want to watch for the millionth time. Turns out it was Pirates of the Carribean. As I laid in bed this morning, Moura decided that I didn’t feel well and instead of poking holes in my arms and face like normal, she kept her claws retracted. Such a good kitty. But that didn’t last too long. Once I was out of bed, all bets were off. Oh well. My fever is going down anyway. Now I just feel weak. I’m good if I lay down. But standing is not a pleasant thing to do. I guess I’m making up for not being sick on Father’s day. Although this is not as bad of a sickness as the one I was in fear of getting father’s day.
