Pneumonia. I mean really. What a stupid thing to happen right when I have so much stuff to get on with. Apparently stress is a major factor - stress? Moi? I have the best life of anyone I know, I don't have stress. (DrBob: Why didn't you tell the doctor that your mom died of lung cancer last year? alala: I dunno, why, is that important?) Anyway, it was all a big, dumb waste of time - not being in the hospital, that's a good place to be when you're really sick, and I was - the being sick part. That was dumb. And a waste of time.
And it's not quite over. Another... uh. Hospital doc says another week of antibiotics, regular doc writes me a prescription for five days. That doesn't inspire a lot of confidence, does it? And I'm supposed to take it easy, while moving house and getting up early to get my kids to school, that starts tomorrow - would've been today, but everybody gets a day off because the Pope's here, something that ticks DrBob right off, but whatever.
What was I talking about? I dunno. I went on vacation not knowing how sick I was, but pretty sure when I got back that it wasn't good. First day back I went to the doctor and was not at all surprised when she tossed me straight into the hospital. Which was lovely at first, to be taken care of for the two days when I was in a fever-induced daze, but when clarity returned, I was dreadfully bored. And they made me stay another five days.
Song du jour of the day: Truckin', by the Grateful Dead. What a long strange trip it's been...