In The Mornings
Monday. Up a bit later, to breakfast a bit later, home a bit later, the lungs no better, the flu-cold healing process making progress; I'm going to stay close to bed, keep the heater running, settle down and hunker on. I have a haircut scheduled for tomorrow morning, maybe that will be the big hoopla for the week, the snow line of this miserable month's mountain. And if it is, well, that's OK. Last week's adventures were less fun.
Later. Weak as a wet rag, but weak as a wet rag doesn't generally imply having just limped away from an auto accident. I'm weak as a (warm) wet rag but I'm not hurting and that's good. I assume the time it will take to get some strength back isn't all that great and I can get back to my usual line of whining and complaining. I don't recall my usual line of whining and complaining at the moment - short term memory loss - but I'm sure they'll surface. Some things never stop.
The evening ahead. I did drive down to the usual place and have a sandwich and a cup of cocoa, just to get outside. The sun was out in the mid afternoon, but I sat inside with my sandwich and watched first the sun, then the rain, then the sun again over the course of an hour. I just needed to get out to an easy place to sit, nothing too strenuous, and my sandwich and cocoa seemed to be the ticket.
So a bath I think. To bed when the head starts to fuzz - could be nine, could be midnight - up tomorrow for that haircut after breakfast. As I've mentioned I've been letting it grow, this hair, and I think it's just about as long as I'm willing to put up with. I'd take a picture, but I mentioned the weak as a (warm) wet rag thing. Tomorrow, a discussion with my barber on the care and cleaning of a new head of hair before returning to the apartment and, well, another nap? Maybe, maybe not. As I said, weak as a wet rag, but none of the aches and pains of a flu-cold still in evidence.
And the cough?
That generally arrives for an hour or so in the mornings.