I have the flu. It’s the annoying kind, body shaking, teeth clattering, rib shattering coughs, nose so stuffy I can’t speak like a normal human being anymore.
I hate it.
My mom doesn’t believe I have the flu. She comes into my room every 15 minutes with some excuse, just to catch me doing something a girl with a fever shouldn’t do. Thank goodness she thinks writing in you, dear journal, is fine. You keep me sane… I hope.
My fever is at 39.5 degrees right now. Or so the thermometer says. I think it’s broken. It should beep when it is done measuring the temperature, instead it makes a gurgling kind of noise.
I think the aliens inside the thermometer are getting sick of measuring the temperature in my ass.
Mom just came in.
She looked at me and felt my forehead. She frowned and said I looked very pale. She gave me some pills. I think they are evil pills. Not going to take them. They could even make me an alien too.
Living inside a thermometer must be gross.
I wonder why there are people dancing on my ceiling.
They aren’t doing one of the cool dances you see in video’s on TV. No, they are doing the ballroom thing my grandmother loves. Hopping and turning.
It’s ridiculous. They should learn to hip hop.
Mom just came back for another 15 minute inspection. She said that she now is convinced I have the flu.
She gave me soup.
I pointed out to her that the words in the soup weren’t all that friendly. I could see very bad words in there. If I ever said them out loud I would be grounded for three weeks.
Mom, of course, said there weren’t any words in the soup, just random alphabet vermicelli.
When I insisted, she threatened to take you away, dear journal.
I told her it was a joke.
She let me keep you! That makes me so happy! You are my knight in…
Knight in tight pants! That’s it!
I crack myself up now.
The aliens in the thermometer aren’t talking anymore, the horse in the corner does that for them.
I wonder if he knows he has a monkey sitting on his back.
Maybe I should get up and tell him.
I tried to get up and fell flat on my face next to the bed.
My legs are now made of elastic, so getting into bed is something I am not going to be able to do on my own. I keep falling down, the bed just attacks me every time I try to climb in it.
The room is dancing now, it spins around me like I am the center of a kaleidoscope.
It’s so cool.
Thank goodness I still have you, my journal, my guardian against all that is unholy.
Why are the monks singing?
So many monks…
Mom put me in bed again, I think. I don’t know these blankets. They are green. My blankets are… are…
Blue? I want to say blue. Maybe they are pink and I am not ready to admit that.
I could also be on a spaceship. Or in a hospital with green blankets and a wolf as a nurse, and monks singing One Direction in the corner.
Or… I could be inside my thermometer.
Who knows anymore…..