The Fevered Brain

I have spent the last four days in bed with a virus.  Now that the initial delirium has passed, I am bed-bound with a body that refuses to work properly and my world has shrunk to this.

After staring at a blank wall for forty minutes, spot thermometer and interestedly take temperature; feel sense of achievement that temperature is satisfyingly high and proceed to take temperature approximately every ten minutes for the next four days.

Gaze vacantly at the mirror on the wall, notice the way the light catches the smears all over the lower half and marvel at the hitherto unnoticed beauty therein.

Count the number of tiles visible on next door's roof from current prone position and decide the glorious profusion of lichen is the exact colour of the sofa cushions.

Catch sight of self in mirror and pleased to see that face has pallor of old porridge and that eyes are managing to look both bulbous and sunken.
Look in  mirror again- unsettled to realise that all the above still true and wonder if face will ever recover.

Google facial re-surfacing.
Google camouflage make-up techniques
Google revolutionary new face lift
Google Dogs Dressed As Superheroes
Drop phone.

Discover that if you look out of the lower left hand corner of the window and squint, it reminds you of the view from your South London classroom, circa 1982.

Perfect playing the William Tell Overture on front teeth with fingernails.

With pounding head and leaden limbs, start planning own funeral. Struggle to decide on whether to make funeral upbeat, eccentric affair - closing music choice: "Land of Make Believe" by Bucks Fizz -or devastatingly moving send-off featuring Barber's Adagio for Strings.
Wonder whether Mozart's Requiem might, in fact, be more fitting. Listen to the Lachrymosa and dissolve into floods of tears.

Check temperature again.

Embark upon in depth research (i.e.Google) to find link between flu symptoms and cancer/ebola/MRSA/tuberculosis/polio etc, etc.

Stagger slowly and resentfully to bathroom, rest head on basin; write mental note to clean grout when fully recovered. Make monumental effort to stand on scales: woozily pleased to discover that have lost four pounds. Crawl back to bed.

Take temperature again.

Decide this is definitely a good opportunity to try reading past the third page of Captain Corelli's Mandolin, but instead fall abruptly asleep with no warning, cheek laid tenderly on half-eaten piece of toast.

See you on the other side.