Then, without notice, it happened. Yes, it's true, I projectile vomited. Turns out, as I later find out the next day at the doctor's office, I have the flu. So watch out, my fever seems to have subsided for a bit, but I'm still quite sick and writing this in one of my semi-lucid, awake phases. Of course, John keeps pumping me full of broth (egh!) and fluids, so I expect a quick recovery. He's also quite quick to point out that "he-told-me-so," when I, in a fit of lethargy, consciously decided not to get my flu shot, stating "I am superwoman. I have genes of steel," and noting that as a result of my given tendency of a child to touch every thing, disease ridden or otherwise, I have built up my immunities to all forms of sickness.
Obviously, this is not true. It's especially ironic given my proneness to shingles outbreaks and other forms of viral attack. Even more is my tendency to fall more often than not, which results in the slew of broken, sprained, and all-in-all injured body parts I have experienced over the years.
Well, now its off to sleep for me (again) and maybe when I awake up I talk John into making more apple and blueberry pancakes, since the ones I did eat didn't exactly stay in my system.