It’s been a light week on Birdhouse – very stressful work week, which by Thursday afternoon had combined itself with sleep deprivation and morphed into some killer mutant flu/sinus hybrid strain of je ne c’est pas, but whatever it was, I was laid out flat until Sunday afternoon, sweating, starving, hallucinerating, and watching a lot of bad TV (and also Genesis and Searching for the Wrong-Eyed Jesus – both excellent in their own rights and “excellent-when-you’re-sick,” if you know what I mean). Just sort of checked out and was grateful to let Amy run the show. Slept almost 24 hours at one stretch, then started to emerge from the cocoon this morning. Still a bit woozy. Just enough personal horsepower remaining to digest some pre-masticated Oscars proceedings tonight.
Miles apparently digested my illness in his own way by reproducing the many types of viruses and germs in his bookshelf with ZOOBs and foam letters. Amy: “There’s the throw-up bug, the cold bug, the flu bug, the ear hurts bug, the sore throat bug, the sneezing bug, etc. No doubt he got the idea after his preschool teacher read them all a story about various germs and how to keep them away from you by eating healthy food and washing your hands.” The tall one in the middle is “Daddy’s flu bug.”