So sick

I feel like someone sandpapered my throat and then used the resulting sticky grit to coat the insides of my eyes, nose, and forehead.

Stupid illness.  I got all sweaty and stuff a few hours ago so I assume I will now get better (based on my highly unscientific "in novels, when they have a roaring fever and then get all sweaty they say that the "fever has broken" and now folks will get better" analysis).

Yesterday I was all like "I think I am sick."
Today I spent all day in a fun cycle of 2-3 hour nap.  Wake up.  Have hot beverages and take painkillers.  Fall asleep.  2-3 hour nap.  Repeat.

I have holed up reading romance novels and it took me 2 entire days to read Nora Roberts's newish "The Hollow".  Normally a book like that would take me 2.5 hours.
I always like to read Nora Roberts books when I am sick, and now I'm on to Jo Beverley.  Some feverish ghoulish thought also caused me to haul out Boswell's Life of Johnson, but I'm not that cruel to myself, really.  It's just sitting there under the tissue box.

I have to work tomorrow.  The scariest part of my new job is that on days when I'm sick, I have to drive.  I tried to go to work yesterday.  I got there and looked so horrible that my manager came out and asked if I could even drive myself home, or if she should do it and then take a cab back to work.  (I made it home.  I drove very very very carefully.)

So sad.  Time for more tea now.