I went down with some germ or virus on Wednesday, and it's only gotten worse. The temperatures hang in the low 20's plus strong wind off the Hawk, as the Hudson is known in these climes, in these winter times, I'm missing all the parties, which means missing seeing and hanging out with all these people I love. I feel like, well, you can imagine, when you can't breathe, everything hurts including your throat which is on fire. Tomorrow a gimongous storm blows up from Florida all the way to New England, suffocating the Atlantic side of things with snow and / or rain. It's expected to storm through much of Sunday, and will likely to leave behind that most hideous of substances, substantial snow. At least two feet, They Say.
I barely crawled out of bed at noon today. There wasn't any reason to do so that I could see. Still I think of all the years I crawled out of bed at the crack of dawn feeling like this to work all day. For days at a time. At least I can stay home in bed this time around. Though I'm not making any $$$$$$.
Shyte.
At least I have the 1972 BBC War and Peace to watch -- though at first things are rather jarring, since the actors do not feel or look in the least bit Russian. I also have to read the first two 44 Scotland Street novels by Alexander McCall Smith, and Wind in the Willows. I haven't re-read WITW in many years, and being sick and it being the season, it feels rightly seasonal.
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