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Fever! In the Morning, Fever all through the Night.

Fevers are one of those startlingly familiar relationships in our lives that can only be described as love/hate. When one has a fever one knows to expect certain things.
For instance:

1. I know that when I'm burning up the only thing that truly feels good is to curl up in my bed and sleep. There are only a few things (newborns, excessive exercise) other than fever that bring such blissful joy in my own bed.

2. I know that a cold wet rag will bring me relief faster than a Tylenol.

3. I know how much I hate the feel of my hot breath against my pillow when I'm feverish. This comes in close second behind getting out from under my covers and being blasted by freezing cold air (that's really around 75*).

Furthermore, fevers contain within them a myriad of memories brought forward through our lives. I can remember taking a shower and shaking so violently afterwards that my husband had to bury me in three blankets and then wrap his arms around me just to help me breath. I remember my mothers cool hand pressed against my forehead moments before the shock of an ice cold towel.

Every time I get feverish I recall certain things. Certain aches that can mean only one thing, certain means by which I can feel moderately better. Fevers are so familiar to me that I probably react more rationally to them than the sudden cramping of labor.

I could not begin to count the amount of fevers in my life, but when I'm lying in bed feeling as if I've been hit by a truck I can sure remember every one, and if weren't for the amount of personal knowledge I've gained from them... I think I would love to hate them.


P.S. There is an excellent Fever song down in my playlist... I'll put it at the top so you can listen and enjoy what I consider one of my favorite songs. (You gotta listen all the way through)

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Mutterings of a Middle-Aged Dreamer

Use your words, my dear sweet soul, they are inside of you... So find them. Write, you silly girl, write so hard the world will never forget you.
But does it matter if the world remembers you? 
Age begins to press its hands upon your chest and the need to be remembered seems to increase with the pressure. 
Stop.
That's not a line of thought you're interested in pursuing. 
Live in the now.
Does it matter if the world remembers you if your neighbor is going hungry? 
Perhaps age is merely pushing you out the door. 
Go. Live in the now.