I've been sick with a cold since Friday night. It's one of those annoying colds that just kind of sucks the life out of you.
It started on Friday afternoon at about 2PM with a twinge on the roof of my mouth. Up to that moment, I was pretty much fine. OK, so I was a little tired, but I chalked that up to having stayed up late the night before. And the night before that. But with that twinge, I knew my weekend was in the toilet. I know myself, and I know how it is when I get sick. So I cancelled Friday's plans (going to Clinton's to hear a friend play).
The next day, my throat was sore, and I was really tired and feverish. I cancelled Saturday's plans (work - am I a workaholic yet?) and stayed at home. By the end of the day, the sneezing phase had started.
The day after that, my throat was more sore and my nose was running like a leaky tap. Ewww. By this point, I'd given up making plans and spent all day at home, sneezing and ripping handfuls of kleenex out of the box and rubbing sanitizer into my hands. I ventured forth in the evening to take the cats to my parents' house, where they will be spending the week while I'm on vacation.
Today: I stayed home again. My thinking was, I've got to rest and give my body a chance to fight this thing off. So I stayed in all day.
At 5.30PM, I decided fresh air and a little bit of exercise was in order. So I went to the library to pick up this week's reading material. I got a good haul - two biographies, one about the creators of the Joy of Cooking (which, by the way, is a great read both inside and outside of the kitchen) and one about two antiquarian booksellers and best friends who discovered some of Louisa May Alcott's anonymous early work; and two novels.
And now, at this writing, my throat is scratchy and my head is all stuffed up. This means I'm getting better, right? Right? I can't believe I'm going on vacation on Wednesday - I am not in a vacation place right now.