We live as long as we fly
The good: I've recovered, except for a bit of a cough. Over the weekend, we also had a great time hanging out with friends, went to a place called "Chili Pizza" that opened up around here a week ago.
The bad: I haven't worked out in a long time, so for that reason or some other, I feel physically and mentally awful.
Anyway, I wanted to write about books.
Vladimir Yakovlevich Tsvetov - The Fifteenth Stone of the Ryoanji Garden
I've been sick for a second week now, and the further it goes, the worse it gets. Right now my temperature is around 38, but even when it's 37.5, I feel so awful that I can't stand it. My whole body aches, last night I woke up every hour, tormented by nightmares. I even wanted to share them here, but I forgot them. The thing is, I almost never run a fever when I get sick. I don't want to fall into mythological thinking here, but it's quite possible that because of this I tolerate even a slight fever, like 37.5, much worse. I can't even imagine what would happen to me at 39. I think I'd go crazy. Right now I have the oil heater blasting on full, I'm wearing a sweater, and sometimes I even cover myself with a blanket so I don't feel the cold.
I'm treating it, of course, went to the doctor, I'm taking antibiotics, but apparently the infection is especially nasty, I can't fight it off yet. I'll go again tomorrow, he'll probably prescribe stronger antibiotics, or just different ones, since these aren't beating the infection down enough.
It immediately brings to mind the unforgettable “There are some fences here! Cowsheds! Mom, we’re in hell!”
Why I have such a negative attitude toward Russia and the Russians there.
My attitude isn't negative but rational, because I read too much on the internet.