Up to scratch.

Literally. I woke myself scratching dry, flaky skin off my hand and arm. Fiercely. Relentlessly. And then I realized that I was ridiculously warm, so I detached myself from my CPAP and padded out to the thermostat in the hall. The glow from the nightlight in the hall bathroom was insufficient for me to tell whether we were set for heat or AC. So I padded back into my room, grabbed my glasses and my phone, and padded out again.

 Heat.  Fixed that, then went back to my room for my thermometer. 100.1F, or 101.1F for normal folks. Which is a great number for an FM radio station but not so much for me. I've swilled a half-litre of water and cracked open a second. I've worked all of my daily AARP puzzles. And I am worrying away on the Ricola which is currently ricocheting off my teeth, my tongue, and my hard palate.

I would vastly prefer to be horizontal and unconscious right now, but my nose is running like the bulls of Pamplona, and the minute I step into my room, I start coughing all the way up from my toes. It's a miracle and a blessing that I haven't awakened the bipolar bears.

I want my mommy. I want to be well again. I'm trying to be patient with the process, and I mostly am, but just not at this particular moment, when the alarm is set for less than two hours away. I want to lie down and sleep this off, and I want to be perfectly productive at work later today, and oh how I wish I could feel Beloved's back snuggled against me as I sleep.

Speaking of which, I just got hit with a gentle wave of drowsiness. Wish me luck.