That other post, explained.
So perhaps it was a little much to say I "almost died." But there were certain points on Wednesday or Thursday when I would have most assuredly signed an affidavit solemnly swearing I was on my deathbed.
Wednesday I was sick. The kind of sick where when you're done you have to wash some things and throw other things away. I poured some part of myself into every facility with a drain in it in my house, as I wended my way along the heavily-trod path from my bed to my bathroom. I wrapped myself like a burrito in my blanket, as I tried diligently to sweat out an ever-increasing fever.
I would have been satisfied only to lie in my sweat-soaked sheets for 48 straight hours, canceling all appointments, but, friends, I live a certain kind of life: a solitary one, and one devoted nonsensically to the arts.
If I wanted or needed things, I would have to get them myself. Medicine, soup, clear liquids with which to keep hydrated, or, I don't know, THE BEST OF ALL POSSIBLY NEW COMICS WEEKS?
Oh yeah...also, I had to act in a play.
So that happened.
Wednesday night I couldn't sleep, so I read through all my new comics, including The Black Dossier. I made it through the first slew of text pieces before it was nearing 5 AM and I drifted off. That reading material plus a constantly ascending internal temperature made for some deliriously uncomfortable dreams, friends.
So anyway, the play has opened and been met with a warm reception, both critical and popular, including the particular compliment previously mentioned. I'm feeling better now in general, though this new tickling in my throat tells me I might be turning a completely different kind of sick.