My theology says that the war is won, but my life says that there are still battles to be fought. Specificially the War on Colds. I’m sure the cold virus has it’s own raison d’etre, but frankly, I’m pretty tired of being the host. Or battlefield, or whatever.
As is so often the case when one has a stretch of days that are over busy and stressful and then end, I’m sick as a dog. Sicker than my dog, actually. Post-nasal, Marlene Dietrich voiced, sinusitis-headache, tired, weepy eyed and dehydrated from the “medicine.” All I want to do is crawl back in bed and sleep. Probably for a week. And have some handsome male nurse bring me tea and maybe a sandwich now and then.
But I’m at my Saturn dealer waiting to hear if my hand-brake is completely hosed or only partially hosed, avoiding my writing for LN’s project and over-analysing the Saturday morning coffee conversation I had. And trying not to cough because it hurts too much.
Coming this week (I hope) per request (See. Ask, maybe the answer is ‘yes!’): Pictures of my 100 year old house.