So. Back to work and back to life. My Christmas was. That is all I am going to say about that.

However, I did manage to catch the flu, and it was the real flu. I had, at one point, a temperature of 41.1 C, which was enough for the window to be opened in our house, let me tell you. The curious thing about that level of fever is that your appetite dies, it just dies. I’m still looking at food as if it is an enemy. Every time I have a meal I have to fight the urge not to throw it up, my stomach hates it so much. And life has such a sad and unchanging routine these days.

When is too much too much? And when can I say stop?