On the front lines of the flu story

A few days ago, I started feeling a little achy. Then a nasty weight started to gather in my chest. Ugh.

By Tuesday night, I had been banished to flu-land. Fever, hacking cough, zero energy.

The truth is, I’m not a very good sicky-y.

As a kid, growing up in a noisy, overcrowded house, I loved sick days. It was a chance to lounge around in privacy, free of the hub-bub and the dull duties of Middle School.

But these days, I actually like doing what I do every day. Being confined to bed is boring.

I have managed to read most of a very thorny and complicated novel — “Anathem,” by Neal Stephenson – highly recommended for anyone who loves math and logic problems.

But my real recommendation, to anyone who can get one, is to wrangle yourself a flu shot.

Most years, I don’t bother. I’m too lazy and disorganized — and I usually don’t get sick. But trust me, the bug this year is a tough one.

One last insult to injury? The day I started getting sick, the skies cleared. Perfect, porcelain blue, day after day. Some of the most gorgeous fall afternoons I’ve ever seen.

And me marooned on the couch, surrounded by a litter of Kleenexes. Ugh.