The phone rings just as I am on the edge of sleep, and the ensuing conversation drifts in and out of coherency. Eventually, I fall asleep with the phone in my hand, blankets pulled tight around me. A few hours later I wake: a temperature of 102.6 and I am shivering. Fever dreams of the Canyon, where I burrow deeper and deeper into dark heat. Words stalk me. I am cold and then hot and then cold again. I cannot tell when I am awake or when I am dreaming, I cannot tell where my skin ends and the world begins; all the boundaries are blurred in a delirium of sensation. The heat feels good.