sublingua | |||||
The heart with a mind of its own.(Be present.) | The mind with a heart of its own.(It's past.) | The dream that is your waking life.(Go there now.) | |||
viruses and baking parties
I just finished an e-mail to brilliant Sophistica. We are supposed to get together to, of all things, bake later this week. I find great potential for amusement in a kitchen full of science-oriented overachieving alpha females baking christmas items, so I have offered up my house for the afternoon. We'll see how it goes. I spent most of the day horizontal, trying to outlast a virus that has invaded. My throat is all rough and scratchy, but I broke my fever (and lost the pieces), so I feel a little better. Normally, when I am sick Max chases me around the house with bottles of vitamin C, echinacea, multivitamins, and whatever else he would find it amusing to watch me try to swallow--but this time he is sick too, so I am on my own. We are both wandering around the house groaning, like zombies with bad hair. Last night, as I was falling asleep, I had a wonderful idea for the next novel, which I am going to begin when my head has stopped being the battleground for hoards of defending T and B cells and macrophages against viral invaders. Ugh. Th-th-th-that's all for now, folks. I'm not feelin' too hot.
More lies:
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