Fever dreams are weird. I should probably write them down, such a wealth of possibilities. But that would require focussing, and that just isn't working at the moment.

My throat is just a big ball of ouch. My head is stuffed with cotton wool. Coughing is bad, because it scrapes my throat raw and makes my head ring like a bell. That, of course, doesn't mean I'm not doing it every ten minutes. Sneezing is an adventure. I'm going through tissues at an alarming rate.

Remember how gross-out Dee gets when she gets sick? Welcome back.

Tonight is Halloween, and J² has gone to a lot of trouble to organise a party of the (hopefully) uber-gothic persuasion. He's certainly going to town. I'd feel bad if I didn't go. Like I'd let him down. So I'll make an appearance, emblackened and all, but just a short one. Then it's back here, and into bed.

Doctor's appointment tomorrow. Hurrah.