|fe·ver - noun
1. an abnormal condition of the body, characterized by undue rise in temperature, quickening of the pulse, and disturbance of various body functions.
2. an abnormally high body temperature.
I am one of those lucky people who, at the age of 27, still gets fever fantasies when my fever gets too high. It has carried on since childhood, and has lead to me hitting my husband (to get rid of his beak with which he was planning to beak me to death with), throwing books through the air (to hit the helicopters) and numerous hours under the duvet, hiding from the hot air balloons.
I get sick every now and then, and usually I understand what's happening quick enough to stop the fever from getting too high. Usually I have a couple of days with burning cheeks and shiny eyes, a little less energy than normal, but carrying on as if nothing is wrong. And I try not to whine about it.
|I'm a real trooper, marching on with fever burning in my cheeks and glistening in my eyes.|
Suffering in (close to) silence.
Then the whining starts, and my body slowly shuts down. Then, I sleep a lot. Somewhere in that drowsy world of pillows and comforters and softness.... I let go. I float away. I become sick, and convinced it is okay to fly away on that magical cloud.
|Probably dying of a common cold|
|Mr. Butterfly gesticulated wildly and made a sound like zzzmm zzzzm when he danced.|
Me: Mr. Butterfly!
Me: What are you doing here?
Him: I don't know, you invited me.
Me: I did?
Him: Yes, you know we butterflies can't enter a room uninvited.
Me: I thought that was vampires?
Him: You watch too much TV.
Then he started dancing on my head. A butterfly dancing makes very little sound.
Me: Something feels weird, are you sure you're supposed to be here?
Him: Oh, yes! We always come to see the sick.
Me: Oh, that's awfully nice of you, thank you, I was getting lonely.
Him: Oh, it's just to see if you're dying. We like to hold parties on dead people.
Me: I'm not dying.
Him: No... not yet.
Me: No... erh... sorry about that? I mean... I don't want to die. But sorry if it upset you?
Him: No worries, you can't win them all.
At this point I was getting slightly worried that there was something wrong with Mr. Butterfly's head. He was acting all erratic and kept jumping in and out of focus.
Me: Are you allright Mr. Butterfly?
Him: No! You need to calm down! Your head is clearing up. Stop!
Me: I'm just turning on the computer to check Facebook.
Me: What is wrong with you? Why can't I check my Facebook?
He then disappeared for a little while. I logged on Facebook and noticed the profile pictures were moving and the text was slanted. A sudden sneeze reminded me I was sick.
Him: You think too fast, go back to bed!
Me: I need to take some pain killers, I obviously have a fever.
Him: You really shouldn't, you might get an ulcer and die.
Me: I thought that was what you wanted anyway?
Him: fair enough, I hope you die.
Me: You're a bastard Mr. Butterfly.
|Close up proves I'm right.|
In other news: you should all check out the fabulous blog of Darcy Perdu, called So Then... stories. It is really funny and sweet!
She gives out free t-shirts for the first one to subscribe from every country, state and planet, so check out if you're one! Our very own Flickster is hailed with the honour of being the very first subscriber from a parallel dimension!
We're both very proud, and she won't shut up about it.