Fever Dreams

[rebness]

Today has been all about the fever. All last night, I whined about how my brain felt too hot and was laughed at (pause for obligatory >: sign) and couldn't sleep. Dragged myself into work today and got sent home. Which isn't too bad-- it won't count as an absence because I was sent home, but I have to make sure I go in tomorrow, fever or not, if I want my August holidays/Venice/Ireland/wherever days off to go by without raised eyebrows. Bleurgh.

My temperature's running high again and I have no bloody idea what's wrong. It's not a cold; it's certainly not 'flu or food poisoning... I just feel really off. And I dunt want to go to sleep because my last sleep an hour or so ago involved an angry dwarf with a knife, several bloody corpses and me running down endless dark corridors.

That said, I managed to get around to watching Ripley's Game, which I'd avoided because others had told me it was a rubbish adaptation. Whatever! I thought it was great; all beautiful cinematography, killer one liners and the whole dubious rooting-for-the-bad-guy thing. It wasn't as good as The Talented Mr. Ripley and of course was Jude Law-less, but still... I don't think it desecrated Highsmith's vision of Tom, and then there was Dermot Mulroney. Why can't my fevered brain dream of him?