Under A Blanket

I finished teaching the first of my three summer intensives Thursday (well, there is still grading to do, but the high pressure public lecturing part is done), and my body reacted the way it used to react to the end of each semester back when I was an undergraduate: I woke up the next morning feeling deathly ill, coughing like crazy and lumbering around with muscles that seem to have transformed overnight into bags of cement, probably because I had been shunting off allowing myself to feel whatever bug I had for days while I was busy preparing for finals until I had a break in which to let the pent up havoc to wreak itself. Of course, I'm not really in such a break now -- my second summer intensive is already underway and my third one begins Tuesday, so I don't really have the time to really wallow in illness, but -- silly body! -- it seems I am to spend this long weekend under a blanket watching Sigourney Weaver flicks (weekend illnesses are made for theme-DVD marathons, I find) and drinking hot theraflu whether I really want to or not. Occasionally, I grade somebody's final paper from my to-do pile in moments of comparative lucidity, but otherwise I'm a bit out of commission. I can't promise my usual steady stream of weekend anti-futurology or anti-GOP fulmination, but tomorrow is a new day so we'll see.