greasy paper bags
In Slaughterhouse-five, there's a passage where Vonnegut describes the rattling breaths of the dying colonel as sounding like they were coming from greasy paper bags. My sister always reminds me of this whenever I have a respiratory illness without fail.
I'm at my computer today, so I must be better. Or the butt-prints on my bed and couch have to air out. Anyway, I misdiagnosed myself with the flu and it's actually pneumonia, so here's a pretty graphic of a chest X-ray. I finally broke down and went to a doctor Wednesday. He found my flu theory intriguing but said my lungs said no.
Today is the first day my temperature is below 100, so I'm really happy about that. I might be going back to work Monday, but I'm going to play that one by ear - I'm still taking the "good" cough syrup that you shouldn't drive if you're taking. I am studiously avoiding anything to do with work - I am going to turn my computer off in a minute because that's just not restful. I want to stay in my invalid world of white bread toast and tea and watch more nice, safe reruns on TV for just a little longer.