It all started in Helen, the fictitious German town in north Georgia. In Helen, gnomes walked among us, and people wore Bavarian hats, willy nilly. Beverages were poured into plastic boot mugs.  There were people playing air guitar to Jimmy Buffet cover songs. I saw one Fräulein, in full Oktoberfest garb, walking her dog all over the city. Yes. Her hair was in braids.

I knew my fun and frolicking couldn’t last. Maybe it was the cool mountain air. Maybe it was the enchantment of fake Germany in Georgia. Maybe a troll jumped in my trunk and has been tormenting since the Helen weekend.

The next day, when I woke up, I had a slight cough. No big deal. I did the Sunday chores as usual. I did take a nap, which is unusual for me. The nap was more like a light coma. But, I thought nothing of it.

Monday morning, I was feeling warm, and a little light-headed, but I figured I needed coffee and more sleep. So, off to school I went. I was teaching math, and it was one of those Ally McBeal moments when the kids started looking like they were moving in slow motion. I still kept teaching.

ME: Order of operations. Parentheses, braces, brackets. PEMDAS

Student: Do the parentheses go first, or do the brackets? Wait, are the brackets the twirly things or the boxy things?

ME: Yes.

Student: ooookay.

After class, I went to the nurse to take my temperature. She had this new thingy that she ran across my forehead. It read 100.9.

I went home. I slept. I fell into a level of sleep that is yet to be identified. I woke up long enough to swim out of the puddle of my fever to email my professor. I remember writing: Not coming. I’m dying. I didn’t really write that. But, since I was feeling particularly dramatic, it seemed concise. I actually thought I was going to make it to work the next day.

Delirium sets in when a fever takes over the body. My dreams were lucid and freaky. You would think that in the throws of a high fever, I would have serene, calming dreams. But, no. I had one of those waitressing dreams where I couldn’t get to all the patrons. I dreamed that my laundry was piled up to the ceiling. I also dreamed that I was replaced at work because I had missed school. Yes. Sad. But true.

By Tuesday night, I had one of my suburban village friends take me to the after hours clinic, which was closed, after hours. I ended up in the ER. There was an IV and a doctor who was a Christopher Walken look-alike. The people in the waiting room were suspiciously similar to those in Helen. It was a Twin Peaks/Mork&Mindy episode

Wednesday happened. I just don’t remember it.

Thursday, I trudged into school to teach my math class. Bad idea. I looked like the Goldi Hawn character in Death Becomes Her, where she has a hole in the middle of her body, and her head is twisted and contorted in the wrong direction. People in the hall scurried away from me. I don’t blame them. I went home and fell into another coma. No grad school. Sleep.

Friday!!! I can go to work!!! No fever!!!

I taught my math class. I was dizzy. I sat at my desk and had children come to me.

I went home. I slept.

One friend told me that I don’t hold the world up, and I could take a week off to recover from the evil virus. My other friend sent me threatening text messages, guilting me into staying home and keeping the world safe from my germs. My explanation of the horse-pill antibiotics meant nothing. Another friend sent me a text, “Have you met your maker?”

There are times when your body says enough is enough. I scheduled my life so that I had no time to sit in silence and reflect.  Because sometimes, reflecting isn’t pretty. And sometimes, the silence is deafening. Sometimes, movement is easier than stillness. Hitting the wall is a mild description. I slammed up against it, splattered a bit, and had no choice, but to be still.

My Suburban Village showed up again. They were like superheroes, swooping in, with their capes flapping behind them.

Today, I took my daughters and some other little people to eat Chinese food. My fortune said, “When the time comes, pick the top one.” I asked them what it meant, and Courtney, Violet’s friend, said, “You will know when the time comes.”

She is ten.

So, I’ll slow down, maybe a fraction, and wait for the time when I have to pick the “top one”.  Apparently, I’ll know when the time comes.

Here’s to friends, family, and little people with infinite wisdom.

K