At about 1300, I woke to a huge crash of thunder, followed immediately by Max shouldering open the back door, and the realization that the headache had been joined by somebody who was scrubbing my sinuses and throat with Brillo, a nasty hacking cough, and the sort of body aches and chills that make you long for oblivion.
I have a cold. Not just any cold, but the cold that made the hardest-working patient care aide I know (shout out to PCAs here: you guys have the toughest job ever) leave early from work for the first time in his life. I have the cold that sent me out to the pharmacy in pajama pants and a sweatshirt, and made me wish for the first time that Littleton had package stores, so that I could pick up some whiskey for a hot toddy on the way home. I have the cold that even a hot-water bottle won't cure. I have the cold that makes the edges of your nostrils bleed from constant contact with a hankie.
Plus, I still have the damned headache.
So, if you've commented or emailed or called in the last nine hours, I apologize. I didn't get back to you right away, and I won't be getting back to you for several hours, if not days.
I'll just be over here in the corner, a cat on each side of me, Max looking Very Concerned, wanting my mommy, and snuggling my hot water bottle.