delirious

Wake up to a jingle, a text message from a colleague about a snowball fight in the office and realise it snowed overnight. First snow this winter. And I was home to enjoy it in the light of day. I went to the doctor's surgery to figure out what I had, they asked for two proofs of address but no photo ID and then fabricated some information after I (shockingly) couldn't remember the exact date I had entered the country. The Asian doctor with an English first and middle name told me to say 'ninety-nine' and so I complied, unwittingly mimicking her extremely British accent. Chest infection. I smirked a bit, marvelling at the body's reaction to my overwhelming disgust for work at the moment. A tangible excuse for not going to the office for the rest of the week. I spend the day watching Como Agua Para Chocolate and The Devil Wears Prada, catching up with the news from home and finding new music on iTunes. In between all of this I swallow analgesics and antibiotics with an odd pleasure, occasionally interrupted by a horrible disgusting cough and bursts of fever, happy that just for a while, my time is my own again.