It seems every time we get back from Disneyland, I bring home more than good memories.
It didn’t gradually come on. No starting with a ticklish throat. Nope, it came on full blown. I woke up Monday morning with a sore throat, stuffy, aching head and a cough.
The cough is bad enough because it makes my head pound, but the piddling just makes it that much worse. I’m taking 2,000 units of Vitamin C every hour. I’m drinking tons of water. (That helps with the piddling, doncha know.) I haven’t been napping during the day because Facebook’s Fish Wrangler app has new quests. Which I’ve been doing with my quest partner, Jolene. She’s killer competitive.
Last night, I fell asleep on the sofa for about fifteen minutes. We were watching “Psych”, which was recorded last Friday. We went to bed at ten. I fell into a very nice sleep. Then I woke up at two. I tossed. I turned. I coughed. I petted cats. I laid there wide awake. Random thoughts. I’ll share a few. Or more.
Why does it feel like there’s an axe in the middle of my forehead? I need to take something for the headache. And blow my nose. I wonder how many cats I’ll displace when I get out of bed.
(Sorry, guys, it has to be done.)
I’ll put my extra tissue under my pillow.
After having visits from Aunt Flo from the time I was twelve until almost fifty, every twenty-one to twenty-five days, right on schedule, and lasting for seven days (no lie, always a week long, worst was day three and four), almost for thirty-eight years, I rejoiced when it was over. So, after all that torture and punishment, why am I now (rubbing my chin) subjected to whiskers?
It’s weird how earlier in the day I could breathe out of my left nostril, but not my right. Now, I’ve got full air flow through my right, but nothing out my left.
Why is Georgie on my pillow?
I wonder what’s going on with Miss Elizabeth, I wonder if the only food she can eat that won’t give her the runs is the Fancy Feast Tuna Feast. I wonder if I can buy that by the case at Wal-Mart. I wonder if I bought it by the case, if she’d start getting the runs on it.
I wonder why I’m wide awake.
I wonder why all of our cold and flu medicine is out of date. Especially the cough medicine.
I have to pee. I wonder how many cats I’ll displace to get out of bed.
(Sorry, guys, it has to be done.)
I wonder if these hot flashes are because of my cold or hormonal in nature.
I wonder if an online friend would be offended if I asked if she’d lost any weight due to having swine flu. The last time I was under 145, I’d had the flu. That was back in the late 1980s. I wonder if I’m losing any weight. Coughing burns calories.
My lips are really dry. Thinking about it, they really bother me. I need to put some lip stuff on. I wonder how many cats I’ll displace to get out of bed.
(Sorry, guys, it has to be done.)
Ahhh, that feels much better.
Why am I hungry?
Is it really after three?
Will I ever get back to sleep?
If Rusty was still alive, he’d help me sleep. Oh, hey, Mickey, get under the covers, snuggle with me.
I wish I’d quit coughing.
Why do the cats have to be so close to me? Who’s sitting on me now? Potter? I’m tired, I need to sleep. I can’t move. The cats have me coccooned.
I’m never getting back to sleep, I’m going to lay on the sofa. After taking some out of date cough medicine.
When I got out of bed, I counted cats.
Opie and Skipper were at Brian’s feet. That’s two. Sagwa was behind his knees. That’s three. Pete and Rory were at the bottom middle of the bed. That’s five. On my left, the three who’d been laying right up against me, were Ross, Richie and Mickey. That’s eight. Marco was at my feet. That’s nine. To my right was Daniece and Pancho. That’s eleven. Georgie was on my pillow. That’s twelve. There were two more, but I don’t remember who they were.
I didn’t get back to sleep until after five. I let the cats out at a quarter til four. There was a cat spat after five and it woke me up. I went outside. The night sky was crystal clear. I went back to bed. Got up at seven.
I’m tired.
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