We all die a little every day. I know this, and largely accept it. This week, though, I really seem to have made significant progress. No noticeable improvement this morning, and Tyla thinks I sound worse. If she were a doctor, or even really awake, that would probably worry me a little.
I wrote the rest of that recovery test plan today, and I got in a lot of the old “praying for the sweet release of death”, but that’s about it. The temperature swings have calmed down somewhat, but the chest congestion has picked up the slack and the caulking-of-the-sinuses seems to be here to stay. Rumour has it that my good friend Mitchell, with whom I spent far too little time on my Californian trip, has something very similar, and it’s a bacterial condition that requires treatment. So, yeah, it’s doctor time. (You win, mom.)
I pity the fools that shared AC754 with me.
I’ve been telling Tyla that I love her a lot today, because I want those to be my dying words.