Caleb isn't very good at this. He called a restaurant and had them send over some soup but I didn't want it because I'm ten thousand degrees of lava stretched over my bones and so uncomfortable I don't know what to do. Matt is here because Sam is sick. Even Schuyler came home from work. Lochlan didn't get out of bed, Ben is babying him to the point where he may have forgotten about me. Lochlan hasn't but somehow thinks the devil, who doesn't actually have a nurturing bone in his body for anyone over twenty so far, can manage it.
Caleb has offered a shopping trip (no, what?), a cocktail (Jesus Christ) and a nap (okay, maybe) and now I'm sure he's gone off to look up the steps for buying health on the Internet. Price is no object, logic no obstacle.
I'm going to crawl home in a few minutes. At least being in my own bed will be better than trying to be upright, but people seem to get nervous when I don't write so here's my check-in. Maybe see you tomorrow.
