SICKO
Just sick enough to be lame-o, but not sick enough to be pathetic, if you know what I mean. It’s been a down day, low-volume, muffled, tucked in. I’ve read through nearly the entire trilogy of Pamela Dean’s Secret Country books. Had chicken soup and dragonfruit Festis. No gargling with whisky though, sorry John. Not even the kids coming home and ringing the front doorbell endlessly really broke through my headcold fog. There’s a large triangular patch of snow in the far corner of our backyard that is hanging stubbornly on. The horses and ponies were out today, wandering somewhat...