Lost Weekend

Woke-up Friday morning feeling a mite off my game. Went grocery shopping for mom, took Auntie to to the doctor and then to Fred Meyers. By early afternoon I knew the jig was up...definitely getting a cold. The second one in three months. Damn!

I immediately severed relations with the elders, went to the grocery store for provisions and to Hearthside Books for reading materials. By now it's late afternoon and I've got a fever and the first signs of congestion. Early to bed.

Saturday was one of those classic feverish semi-demented days. When I've got a fever all I want to do is sleep. Lots of dozing featuring weird dreams and occasional periods of semi-consciousness punctuated by spells of sneezing and nose blowing. Ugh!

By Sunday morning the fever had broken and while I still felt like shit, it was clear I was on the mend. A day devoted to reading a biography of Woodrow Wilson and watching the Ace of Cakes marathon on the Food Channel. The highlight of the day being the new Iron Chef episode featuring Chef Duff (the Ace of Cakes) as the challenger.

This morning I feel much improved although my schnoz is still running like a river. And a very moist cough. Nevertheless, I feel the urge to break quarantine. Trying to decide whether or not it would be a Crime against Humanity to go to the club for a light workout (walking on the treadmill for an hour or so) so long as I wipe down the equipment and forsake the virus incubation chambers (sauna and steam bath). We'll see.

In any event...I'm alive and kickin'.