So, that incipient case of the “chicken pox”?

Is not the chicken pox at all.

It is now, according to my doctor, a “virus of unknown origin.” Something almost certainly infectious, but untraceable without major lab analyses, which frankly aren’t worth it, as the virus seems pretty close to running its course.

Of course, because a mystery virus just wasn’t enough, my sore throat—which began as just a regular old sore throat such as one gets with the chicken pox, and then developed into nasty sores down the back of my throat, such as I’ve heard can also happen with the chicken pox—has morphed into a bacterial infection, which is in the process of turning into tonsillitis.

Antibiotics are on the way.  Which is great and all, but I really want to run a full system scan, to root out any other little bugs that are lingering herein, waiting for their opportunity to surprise me.

Yes, I returned to Claremont eight days ago, after a fabulous trip through Paris and Tours.  Yes, I’ve been meaning to post every day since I got back, but have been massively unable to do so, due to one crisis and another.

And yet, here I am, on a Monday night, when… aren’t I supposed to be in class right now?

Why, yes, I am.

Instead I’m at home.  In bed.  With the laptop.

And what appears to be an incipient case of the chicken pox.

And, I guess, plenty of time to get caught up here.  More soon.

Inspired in part by the wonderful pulchritude, and in part by my own overindulgences, I’ve undertaken a plan of (somewhat) radical detoxing.  The most significant aspect of my pretty much semi-annual attempt to achieve a less chemical existence is giving up caffeine, which has the immediate effect of making me feel as though someone is driving a railroad spike through my temporal lobe.  Not good when one is frantically trying to finish up work on a manuscript about which one is decidedly ambivalent anyway.

The good news is that, as of last night, about 7:00 pm CDT, after two days of head-splitting and general depression, the pall lifted.  Headache gone.  Not thinking entirely clearly yet, but no longer feeling quite the same urge to dash in front of a streetcar, either.

What made the difference?  Either the simple passage of time, or last night’s replay of the Buffy musical.  You decide.