On Saturday, I woke up with that kind of sore throat that I sometimes get in the morning. It could be a cold, or it could just be the temperature and the air in my room. I went hiking anyway. I still have a Starbucks reward by some barista mistake from last week, so I was going to use it to try the unicorn frappucino. But as I headed home in the drizzling rain, I knew I was getting sick. I came home on Saturday, and I went straight to bed.

On Sunday, I woke up with that kind of all over ache that could’ve been from walking 15 km the day before, but which I knew for sure was the flu. I stayed in bed. I watched the entire Victorian Farm Christmas Special (again). I didn’t write. I barely slept. All I could hope for was that it wasn’t as bad as the flu that laid me out for two weeks in January last year. When you work with children, you spend a lot of time teaching them how to cough into their elbow.

On Monday, this morning, I woke up, and it wasn’t as bad. But I was still sick. It’s the kind of sick that’s mostly a runny nose and a sneeze stuck in your nose. I spent the morning in bed, drank lots of tea, had a hot and steamy shower. By the time I had to walk up the hill to work, it was warm and sunny outside. I survived (with a wad of kleenex hidden under my desk).

On Tuesday, I hope I wake up well.