Las Vegas is supposed to sicken you just a tiny bit. Maybe it's the over the top opulence, the over-done themes, the gastro-fest restaurants or even the non-stop drinking. Any of those are likely to cause a sensation that is different than the normal.
But being in Vegas on the outskirts of a flu is just mean. It robs the body of the resilience needed, it tears down any sort of goodwill offered, it just makes a body raise its hands and basically say: go ahead, shoot me.
I can only remember a few times when my body felt like this...felt stripped raw like freshly peeled from the inside, the night a bout of coughing and cold sweats mixed with a ravaging fever. Or a lack of the ability to taste anything good, the mouth soured by a thousand bags of sweet lozenges and enough green tea to cause anything except a cringe. But a mind just worn flat, quietly tired, shutting down non-critical systems to merely just breath, and focus on fixing...ridding of all distractions so that I don't tempt a nice warm thought to bounce in to just be obliterated by a coughing fit.
But there is that one elixir I still sometimes hold out hope for...an emergence in a room darkened to speed sleep, the air cool to not raise the dryness and cause issues...and that is the ghost form that perhaps you would take if just to come in and merely place a cool hand on a sweaty forehead.
Even just to do that I think would make me feel a billion times better.
Even if I only dreamed it....so far I haven't yet though.
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