Springtime Fever

I have spent the past six days in a feverish state, slowly wading back and forth between thinking I'm well and acknowledging that I've caught the cold that everyone seems to have, but really, really hard. Yes, I had a fever, yes, I have been blowing my nose on Vicks-scented tissue for the past week, yes, I have been coughing up a lung. All of these things are terrible, but the worst part about this is that I'm too sick to read, electing instead to sit in bed with my eyes closed and moaning every so often to indicate I'm alive.  That's horrible too, but what's even worse is that I am 65% done with The Empathy Exams and it's been eating at me that every time I crack the book open I find myself with a splitting headache, which makes me even more furious because the book is really good and I want to finish it already.

Maybe I should have seen this coming. Friday night, I settled down to bed with a galley of Megan Abbott's The Fever, which I finished with glee. I fell asleep shortly afterwards, and when I woke up the next Saturday, there it was. A fever, 100.3 degrees. Now that I am out of my feverstate, I find it amusing that was the book I read. Did The Fever induce my own? I've asked another bookseller to read it to test out my theory. If Tom is struck down next...

I think I'm getting better. I just picked up a galley of Dear Committee Members by Julie Schumacher. It's an epistolary novel, and I adore epistolary novels, and I also adore the fact that I seem to have enough brainpower to recognize that it is an epistolary novel. I'm on the mend!