When being an adult means being boring

Everyone knows the flu is awful. But what I always forget about it is that it's not the initial infection that's the worst thing about it. The fever and body aches are a pain, true, as are the respiratory symptoms, but mostly it's the weeks-long recovery process from the beating your body takes. It's been nearly three weeks and I'm still not up to speed, and I have a stronger-than-average immune system. I know it's not reflective of any great moral failings, but given how capable I'm used to being, it's frustrating to be so limited. (On the other hand, it's been a good time to ruminate on the lived experience of these people I know who deal with chronic illnesses, especially less-visible ones. My hat is off to them.)

I still managed a 90 and a 93 on my finals last week, which isn't half bad considering how my focus was absolutely shot. And I'm grateful that I don't seem to have infected anybody; at least, nobody at school's come down with it, and I haven't been anywhere else. So I'm crossing my fingers that this branch of the infection chain ended with me. (Take that, Random Dude On The Plane Who Kept Coughing On Brian.)

I just found out that Andrea Gibson is performing tonight in Pilsen. I'm really torn on this; she wrote one of my all-time favorite poems, and I've wanted to see her live for a couple of years now. But I just don't think two hours on transit plus time spent waiting in line is the best plan, especially with a full class load tomorrow and Thursday. So another quiet night in it is. Sigh.

On the upside: there's a pair of incredibly impractical and sexy boots on its way to me. Now to keep an eye out for a short skirt and a looooooong jacket.

(Boots! :D)