My friend of almost 20 years told me recently she had fallen ill. There’s a particularly virulent and severe strain of flu going on this year, and she came down with fever, chills, and a horrible headache. A doctor apparently thought it was not the flu, but rather a common cold, and two days later she told me she also had diarrhea and vomiting, followed by pus oozing out of her eyes, which would make it pretty much the worst fucking cold in the history of existence. And then, shortly thereafter:
I asked her if she had come down with the bubonic plague. I was half kidding, though there was definitely a case of it in Yosemite just a week after we left, a couple of years back. Despite the diarrhea, vomiting, oozing pus, and minor loss of bowel control, she insisted she was feeling “really good” compared to earlier.
Almost as good as the time she threatened to kill me, in writing, in the Spring of 1998 when we first met. Almost.