The March Hare

Monday night I had a dinner party and three good-sized glasses of wine. My bedtime is eleven o'clock and I stayed up until two. So, when I woke up Tuesday morning feeling like absolute crap, I figured it was an aftershock.
Then came the nausea and the aching joints. Somehow, perhaps helped by the fever I was already developing, I managed to ignore it and still went to work, although conceding to my body enough not to take the bike, but to let Clurg drive me instead.
I was standing in the sunshine outside, smoking a cigarette before going in, when I realized that I was freezing and that it was seventy degrees outside. That's just not right.
I went in to work and told my boss that I probably shouldn't touch food. He told me to go hostess instead. In the next hour, I vomited twice, and told him that, you know, I don't want to seem like a complainer, but I was afraid that I wouldn't be able to make it to the bathroom next time. "Go home."
I spent the next six hours in bed, the comforter pulled up over my head. My lower body was freezing, my upper body was too warm. I called my mom, hoping that she would have some mommy advice, but she wasn't home. In fact, she still hasn't returned my call.
At six o'clock I moved from the bed to the couch and watched several episodes of 'Law&Order:SVU' and 'Scrubs'. It didn't really matter what images flitted across the screen; the idea was to take my mind off the fact that I was obviously dying.
Today I feel a bit better, but I keep remembering this story I heard on This American Life, in the Conventions episode. This man and woman, who met at a convention, have fallen totally in love. They have decided that they will get married as soon as the woman comes back from a business trip. She gets on the plane, falls asleep, and dies, because the flu she had a few weeks earlier has gone to her heart.
That could happen.