As Friday rolled on my throat got progressively more sore. Historically that’s how being sick has always started for me.

It was hard to believe, because I haven’t had any flu since before the lockdowns started five years ago. Not going out in public several times a week to teach classes was good for me in many ways, including that one.

But now somehow it was happening again. I must have got too close to somebody’s germ at the grocery store.

I oiled the sore throat with whiskey and then broth. Then I quit eating altogether and went to bed and slept straight through for most of the last three days.

In the old days I would have been pounding Dayquil and Nyquil to keep the grift of a job rolling along. This time, there was no pressure or motivation for that kind of thing.

It was interesting. It was even a little bit fun. I’m grateful to the experience for killing my appetite and letting me do a three-day fast without effort. No food of any kind. No coffee even. Just water and lemon juice spiked with my own special electrolyte mix.

Just now, nearing the 72-hour mark, I finally let go of a satisfyingly immense poop. A very good sign. My sinuses are still full of crap and I’m coughing up more, and the fever isn’t quite done with itself.

I still have no desire to eat, but I did start thawing the last big pork roast in the freezer for whenever the hunger does come back.

I’m laying back down for a bit now, and …

It’s all good.