conference flu, round two

The worst thing about coming down sick on the way home is I don't realise that I am. After all, the plane flight begins with an auspicious rainbow seen from the air over London. If I feel hot and then too cold, it's just the over-agressive air conditioning of this Altanta-crewed flight starting in. A bit of a sore throat is just leftovers from waking up too early in the morning. I manage to doze off for a few hours, and see it as just a blessed relief from the monotony, rather than the very unlikely event it is (can't sleep on planes). And the parched thirst when I wake up, that's normal in a dehydrating airplane cabin. I arrive in Atlanta, and somehow fit in with the herd better than usual, receive barely a glance from the passport guy, as I croak out some inane greeting -- and realize that my voice is truely going. But the usual mad scramble through ATL, to the furthest, deepest corner, where they hide the flights to TRI, is quite routine. When I finally get home, I still don't realize how sick I am, that headache and this overpowering tiredness is surely just because I've been up since 2 am, local time. I mostly miss Dani's visit, crash out into bed, and finally realize I've got it when I wake up in the really early morning, and the real symptoms of this thing (which I'll spare you) begin. Looking back, with the fever and everything, I was not entirely in my right mind for most of that trip home.