I have a cold. And while normally I would either soak it up like a drama queen, and complain about going to work, or be incredibly peeved and ignore it until it got worse, I've kind of accepted it. I get to drink tea and honey, I can bring tomato soup to work, and eat it out of a mug. I can cuddle up in blankets at home, and wear socks and sweaters in eighty degree weather, well for a little while anyway.
I can forego obligations to clean my room, or wishes to sew, and I can cuddle up with a warm mug of tea, and read or watch Netflix. All things I love! Of course I am not one of those people who have cute colds. I don't get a pink nose, or an adorable little sneeze, I don't get clearer skin, because my face doesn't loose oil. My nose looks the same, though that's no problem, I always liked my nose. My sneezes are like fog horns, that wake my sister from across the room at night. My mind is foggy and unable to do one task without falling asleep or moving quickly to another that I won't complete, confusing the process of what needs to be done. Last weekend I left work with an empty desk, and now I feel like it will just continue to pile up higher and higher until I am squashed. Orders, Motions, Declarations, and the occasional letter are swarming around me like that last scene in Alice in Wonderland replaying a wonderful dream until it's a horrible nightmare. Does that make sense? I need to go to bed.