I have the flu and I am a man. I will leave the diagnosis up to you.

I have not posted for a while. 

As if in cosmic retribution for getting all cocky and self-congratulatory for not getting sick whilst in a week’s isolation with COVID Kelly, I woke up on Monday with a sore throat. 
Uh-oh.

PCR test was negative.

Two (Kelly would add long) days later, I was still feeling terrible, with exactly all the same symptoms Kelly experienced. So I went and had a second PCR test which was also negative.

Plain old vanilla envelope winter flu so it seems.

Only, when I get sick…well let us just say it ain’t pretty. 

Be thankful I spared you all from listening to the febrile ramblings of an attention-seeking, symptom-exaggerating, glass half empty, could you fluff my pillow? Acopic, dysphoric, man-baby. 

Anyways, this morning I was feeling a good deal better (and it was a beautiful morning) so I took Juno for a walk up along the Mt Taylor fire track. 

I was pretty shagged out by the halfway mark. I ran out of tissues. I think I coughed up my spleen.
You have probably heard of the medicinal benefits of Shinrin-yoku (forest bathing), well this was a sort of forest waterboarding.
Yet the magpies cheered me on, an intimidating big kangaroo advised me to human-up, and the unexpected thick bush fragrances lifted my spirits. It was nice.

Home again. Pen this update. Flop on the couch for a nap.