I think I have the flu. Everything just hurts and I can't sleep because my head is filled with pain and I'm too hot or too cold or too hurty or too coughy or too sicky. GM held my hair for me and wrapped me up in a towel in the bathroom, sitting on the floor, saying sweet things to try and console me. And then he slept on the floor next to the sofa so he could keep an eye on me all night. Even if he doesn't have a magic wand to wave and make me better, he makes me feel worried about and taken care of and loved. He keeps bringing me hot tea with lemon and honey or cookies and offering all sorts of nice gestures and then I feel ungracious for not eating it because my throat hurts and my stomach turns.

Actually, I'd really like chicken and noodles from the Thai place up the hill. Perhaps someone will bring me take-out Tuesday night for dinner. . .

It's totally my nineteeth birthday on Tuesday! Apparently, it's a popular day for birthdays as my friend Sophie has one that day and several other kids have ones this week, so to the best of my knowledge, there's some communal party somewhere Friday night.

Oh hell's bells, I've started sneezing. I feel like complete and total shite. I don't think I could have been more miserable last night, unless I'd continued throwing up. I was shaking and twitching with unlet coughs and I couldn't make my joints stop hurting, everything hurt so much and I was whimpering and moaning and crying and not making any sense, I'm told, and thus, probably fevery delirious. Woot. .

But, I will be better for my birthday. I really think my eighteenth birthday was the best one so far as a transition new leaf point in my life. This year to come holds promise and hope and so much, but the one that I'm finishing was full of hope too, and a marked contrast from the one previous to that. This seems sort of a natural progression in life, not a crossroads.