I know I'm not the only one sitting sequestered in a nest of tissues and warm compresses, but classes start tomorrow and it's time to assess the situation.
Nose: red.
Clothes: wrinkled.
Voice: comes and goes, sometimes nothing more than a croak.
Choice: stay home another day or teach tomorrow?
Fever: gone, along with fever dreams in which I kept chasing Victor Hugo, perhaps to demand an explanation for all those chapters tracing the history of the Paris sewers.
Syllabi: done and printed, I think. I hope. I'm pretty sure I did all that before I left campus on Wednesday.
First-day writing prompts: written, yes, but did I print it? Don't remember.
House: smells like sick people.
Car: hasn't moved an inch since Wednesday evening. Hope those new ignition wires do the trick!
Brain: coming back from wherever it hides when my head is crowded with wads of mucus.
I think I'll teach. If my voice won't work, I'll just let the students do the talking.
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