Today I’m sidelined by a nasty fever. At one point last night, my temperature hit 103º. I knew it was bad when Bailey switched into comforting-dog mode, a far cry from her usual wild-dog-desperate-for-attention mode.

Ellen drew a lukewarm bath around midnight, which to me was torture. I was shivering like a crazy person. Two weeks ago, on my 28th birthday, I decided I wanted to join the Polar Bear Club. Clearly I’m not Polar Bear material. Put it this way: if I ever have secrets you’re trying to extract, just throw me in a tub of 58º water.

For only the second time in my long (and storied) career, I took a sick day. (Relive my earlier infirmity here.) But by two major indicators, I’m feeling better. My temperature has returned to double-digits, and Bailey’s back to her high-energy self. Speaking of, she’s running up and down the stairs with her blanket. Guess I’m not sick enough to not intervene.

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