Hey diary,
Today was the absolute worst. I woke up feeling like a herd of elephants had trampled over me in my sleep. My throat felt scratchy, my nose was running faster than Usain Bolt, and I could barely keep my eyes open from fatigue. It was not the ideal way to start the day.
At school, things went from bad to worse. I tried to soldier on through classes, but it felt like every word that came out of my mouth sounded like a frog croaking underwater. Max and Echo noticed something wasn't right with me and offered tissues and words of support, bless their weird little hearts.
Music class was a disaster waiting to happen. I attempted to play the recorder (why do we even have those ancient torture devices?) but ended up passing out from sheer exhaustion halfway through "Hot Cross Buns." Not exactly my finest moment.
After school, when hanging out with Max and Echo at our usual spot by the pond, Louise swooped in like an overprotective hawk sensing danger. She took one look at me and declared that she would be taking care of her sickly son whether he liked it or not.
I put up a feeble resistance at first because let's face it - who wants their mom fussing over them when they feel terrible? But eventually gave in as she checked my temperature revealing a fever rivaling that of Mount Vesuvius - 102.3 degrees Fahrenheit! The ice pack on my head may have made me feel slightly better temporarily but all I really wanted was some chicken soup magic potion concocted by Momma Bear herself.
In moments like these when you're lying in bed feeling miserable beyond belief, you realize who truly cares about you - even your resident bully Stuart showed some unexpected concern (maybe he's not such an ogre after all).
So here I lay now dear diary- sniffling away with tissues strewn around me while contemplating life's cruel irony: why does illness always strike at the most inconvenient times?
Until next time, James