Trying to get a fitted sheet on the bottom bunk bed mattress is like wrangling with the oily dead body of a 800lb giant in a dark low cave while trying to dress him in a wetsuit: difficult but not impossible.
And so, that phrase (difficult but not impossible) became my mantra over the last week and a half as I struggled to complete everyday tasks with an alarmingly high fever and an appalling lack of sound decision-making skills.
I drove to and fro, made appointments, spent time talking on the phone, actually turned a few things in prior to deadline, and attended a seminar where there were dancing squirrels, a sad minotaur who spoke in Mr. Belvedere’s voice and the keynote speaker was Val Kilmer.
The flu makes everything possible.
Anyway, I’m nearly fully recovered at this point so I can look back and laugh at the several thousand foolish decisions I made during my sickness, but there was no denying that firmly believing my dog was speaking to me in French was the highlight of day two.
And for all you naysayers that insist that just because I listen to the ’40s station on Sirius XM radio does not mean that I am walking around in a rain-swept Woody Allen movie all day long were proven wrong when my body temperature reached 103 and I distinctly recall running into Alvy Singer and Annie Hall in my kitchen while they cooked lobsters.
