With Much Ado

So Quirkie once told me that a cold is maximum misery for minimum sympathy. She sure had that right. I've been walking around in a mucus fog for the past few days. There's a kid in one of my classes who is a nice enough boy, really, but he wears mirrored aviator sunglasses and the big headphones with his doof doof music blasting out as he walks into the class, and every time I have to pull him into line he says, in this quiet, easygoing way, "You're breaking my balls." (And I do have to tell you that secretly I find it pretty funny.) And The Antiquer came over last night as I was settling into a nice little coma on the couch. He rang the doorbell and I was on the phone to someone and as it was a quarter to nine I got a little freaked out so I told the friend to stay on the phone so she could immediately call the constabulary if required, and it was of course just The Antiquer who had come back from a four day weekend away with Tam O'Shanter and Small Thing and the Whenwe couple he despises and he just needed to offload about the horror of his weekend and he stayed until 1am so I guess that was about 1 hour per day. And then I got home tonight and saw on the floor a pair of dirty socks and I wondered if I could fit them into the load already awaiting the ministrations of the washing machine and I debated it back and forth for a while and then decided to just go into the laundry and check and then my brain decided to just have a little break so as a consequence I walked through the laundry into what is sometimes referred to as "the littlest room in the house" and promptly deposited the socks into the toilet.

Luckily I had bleached it this morning so I just know things are turning round.

This is all by way of saying: hello, I'm back.