You give me fever

I feel like crap. And in my delirious state, I am convinced that you want to read all about my icky-ness.

I woke up from a strange dream this morning feeling alright, aside from the persistent sore throat. It was department fun day today, so I figured I was good enough to at least put in a half day. Plus, I didn't want to miss out on the free hot dog lunch.

Shortly after sitting down at my desk with a big mug of tea, the aches set in. I was hot and cold, pale and flushed. I should have gone home. I don't know why I can't give in and accept when I need to spend a day in bed. No wait, I remember. I hate daytime television. Especially American daytime television, and most especially The View, which seems to be the only thing on.

Some how, the morning faded into noon, and we were free to head out to the corn maze. I was starving for my free hot dog. Accompanied by a bag of chips and some potato salad, it did not disappoint.

But only 30 minutes into the maze challenge, I was really regretting those 1000 milligrams or so of salt I had consumed at lunch. It was actually a warm day, somewhere around 25 degrees. The slick mud trails were looking so inviting. At first I was adamant about not taking the cheater trails, cutting in between the real trails, but I soon gave up my principles in favour of getting the whole thing over with already.

As we made our way through the maze, we were also supposed to find posted signs with hole punches to punch a game card. There were eight stations in total. After just over 75 minutes with five punches in our card, we called it a day and found our way out. I made my way to the concessions stand and bought the tastiest bottle of water I've ever had. Gas prices jumped again today, but it's still cheaper per litre than water. Barely.

I got a ride home in the back of Judy's car with Cindy and Tonia. They were happily chirping away about boys and weekend plans. I felt bad that I couldn't join in on the giggles. There may be a party to go to tomorrow night. It would be in my best interest to go.

I'm now home, in my room, with the Bomber game on the radio (we're killing Toronto early in the fourth). My fever has seeped into my eyeballs and it makes me wonder if you can cook contact lenses.

Now, I rarely get sick, but I'm pretty sure no one has ever felt this yucky before, and surely I will be dead by morning. Clearly. So, y'know, love you guys. It's been great writing for you all. Tell George Stroumboulopoulos that I love him and I'm sorry I could not have his children.