Five days.
I can't remember the time, as it read red on the clock next to my bed. And forgive me, I'm a bit out of my mind with fever. I couldn't do anything I needed to this weekend, though I probably needed to do nothing, needed to lay in sweaty sheets, fumbling around in this disconnected haze.
But everything was resolved last night, or it felt like it. And it feels okay. It feels good, so I have no questions that need to be asked until Friday, when he finally gets here. He took care of me as best he could over the phone, and I know what it would have been like if the world was a different place, and I would never have to be sick alone again.
I'm not as worried about getting sick again as I should be. It's natural for your body to break under stress and lack of decent sleep. This feels like the time I got really sick a few years ago, when I was sick for a month, and I just didn't have the energy to do anything. It's a fever, though I don't know what my temperature is. Feels over 100, flashing really hot, flashing really cold.
Right now, I feel close to human, nearly alive, on the brink of breaking. And I've let myself get as excited as I can, trying to remember I have 5 days to pick up the house, 7 hours on Friday to clean, plenty of time to get better, pack, and prepare. I'm letting myself drift off into sleep thinking thoughts that would have only hurt, but now thoughts I can have because 5 days from now they can have their chance.
Good Night.