Monday night: "Uh, I don't think we should go to the movies tonight. I feel kinda funny. I'm gonna lie down, I think."

Tuesday: "Why does this thermometer say my temp is 102°F?"

Wednesday morning, Dr. Fisher: "You have the flu, Jeff. Here's a prescription for Tamiflu. Don't go back to work before Monday."

In my brain, the storm-signal flags are at 'PHE hurricane warning' level: instead of black-on-red squares, blue-on-white squares with little penguins at the bottom. Not to mention the little dusty white fingerprints from the all-purpose flour I've been going through like water.

Oatmeal cookies? Check.
Gingerpeople? Check.
Molasses spice cookies? Tomorrow.
Chocolate chip cookies? Not gonna bother until Saturday and Sunday.

This conversation has been edited to fit your screen, for length, and for content, which is to say that it might or might not bear any resemblance to the original conversation at all:

Just checked with a friend. It's apparently Friday. I've been sick since last Saturday.

I appear to be on the downhill side, but this illness is not going gentle into that good night. Temps are currently not at the 102°F level that worried spouseling and me both, but they're refusing to drop to normal levels.

Lots of coughing.
Lots of sleeping.

Have the suspicion that I have been kicked in the head in the past week.

Days of elevated temperature: ten. Though, it should be noted, today was the first day my temperature never hit 100°F. Progress!I have seen the inside of my lungs, and they are bright yellow. We'll just leave it at that. No part of my body should be bright neon yellow. Yuck.