Jesus, when did it become February? (And don't say 'Monday'; I know you know what I mean.)
I've been existing in a haze of precipitation varying from fog to rainy downpour for weeks. And just lately, a haze of cold medication as well. All things considered, for someone with a kid in elementary school, it's pretty amazing that I've made it this far in the winter season without a cold bug biting me in the ass. But bite it finally has. And currently, the opportunity to curl up under a blanket and a cat at home and watch "Aliens" has not presented itself, so the best I can do is wash my hands a lot and try not to breathe on anyone.
When I have a cold, I can never decide if I'm frightened by how fragile I am as an entity, or if I'm impressed at our species' autoimmune ingenuity as my body battles it out and overcomes. I picture microscopic armored warriors shooting slime cannons and witty insults at each other, while I'm the lone tenant in the war-wrecked aftermath, wading through the mucusy landscape. (Game over, man, game over.)
A bit dramatic, really, but it passes the time.
In other news, I'm reading two books, knitting three projects, and skipping hockey this week because a snotty nose and face mask are recipe for a particularly disgusting disaster. And that's me. Hope nothing's biting you.