I have come down with the ick. So have at least a third of us, if the sniffles, sneezes, coughs, and hacking that I hear in class and around the house are any indication.
It’s a bit earlier than I expected, but I think we’re blaming it on an Australian super virus. (But not really.)
I’ve got a horrible taste in my mouth that just won’t go away, and that I know won’t until after all the post-nasal drip is gone. Sudafed is my friend, though, as is zinc and mega-doses of vitamin C.
That last is hard to come by, though. The amount of sunlight coming in my room, starting at some unholy hour, wakes me up. I’ve taken to wearing a sleep mask, which is not comfortable, but which seems to be helping.
On the plus side, I’ve learned that I really can function at a surprisingly competent level for a fair amount of time on much less sleep than I thought. Still, it’s no way to live.
Last night was the second Clarion West Friday night party (one each Friday we’re here, hosted by local members of the spec fic community of Seattle, and thanks be), and the sentiment we all heard was, “wait ’til week 4.”