Comic Books and Kleenex

I’m sick, so that’s me on the couch with kleenex and a stack of comic books. All things being equal I’d rather be well and at work, but some quiet time in the house doesn’t suck either. And being sick, I feel justified in ignoring all the household messes that I might otherwise have felt guilty about not cleaning. Now I can curl up with a cup of tea and watch Ripley massacre a nest of Aliens with a blow torch in peace.

This is one of those colds where I don’t want to eat anything, even though I know I should. How else can you explain me locked up in a house with a box of Sees candy and no one but the cat around to witness, and yet the candy goes unmolested.

I end up doing drive-bys in the kitchen when I feel this way. If I stop to cook a meal, well, that would qualify as actual work, but a handful of crackers and a slice of salami fulfills my temporary obligation to consume calories and then I can go back to the couch and stare at my un-sweater knitting project some more and ponder the deeper meanings of Buffy season 5.

Last night my husband came home talking about cioppino. He took one look at me, tucked my blanket up to my chin and said, “Grilled cheese and mushroom soup, coming right up.”

God, I love that man.

So now I’ve got the cat performing her only useful task in this house, which is to keep my feet warm and the internet at my disposal so I can alternately covet a new t-shirt from ThinkGeek or a new leo from Discount Dance. Perhaps if ThinkGeek made dance gear, I would not have to choose. I know a fair amount of people who would be interested in Serenity leotards. Maybe I should go into business making... The cat looks up and eyes me suspiciously. Sorry, I tell her. Pay no attention. It’s just the sudafed talking.

And that’s me ready for another nap. See you in the world.