Once again, illness, foul, foul illness waylaid me on Monday, rendering me powerless to communicate effectively. We were all sick, every blasted one of us. The wife and I had colds from hell, and the children had the remnants of said colds, however, in my son's case, with a new, exciting wrinkle.
As adults, we take a lot for granted in terms of sensations our bodies experience. Sunday night was the first time, at least that's our supposition, that my son had ever had a sore throat of any seriousness, and it was, in a word, unpleasant. Usually when you get a sore throat, it's bothersome, sometimes even slightly painful. You may wake up in the morning and wince. Perhaps coughing brings you flashes of discomfort, but unless you have strep throat, or something painfully lodged in your larynx, it's usually not all that bad. Not so for my son. Apparantly the apocalpypse was taking place in his throat, thereby rending his vocal cords asunder. Between his plaintive wailings, and my daughter's usual nighttime shenanigans, my wife and I were up 8 times. Yes, that's right, 8 times. By the next morning, he was fine, albeit tired and on a hair trigger, but his throat issues seemed to have dissappeared, leading me to believe that it was more surprise that his throat could hurt in the first place than actual searing pain that caused the issues.
On the other hand, my wife and are legitimately sick, with foul colds drummed up from the pits of hell. I knew I was getting sick when I started remembering my dreams and they were completely freaky. I usually don't remember my dreams, unless I'm sick, or getting sick, so Saturday night, when I dreamt of smearing peach yogurt on my face as a means of preparation for shaving, I should have known that a bad moon was on the rise. Sunday night, when I managed to snatch an hour or so of sleep, I dreamt that I had a group fo 12 Japanese men, all identical, that I had to lead to another group of identical 12 Japanese men. For the record, both groups were different from one another. I know. It's all very odd.
My cold seems to be on it's way out, a change in my condition punctuated by a mass exodus of nasal discharge from my person. When I have a cold, my thing is coughing. My wife's is nose blowing. Between the two of us, conversation is nigh impossible. As my cold progresses, my body seems to make large amounts of fluid which it holds on to for some unknown reason. Once my body gets the upper hand over the virus, it decides to get rid of this fluid, as quickly and as efficiently as possible. As a result, I actually sound, and look, worse, yet feel much better.
I would not fault you if, at this point in the post, you desperately wished I would go back to topics on the order of how paper works.
I am doing my best to keep my head down and not buy new games, but it is difficult. Okami sings to me its siren song of gaming magnificence. Club House games seems to be taking the edge off, however with us on the precipice of an avalanche of game releases, it's hard to not want to buy something out of sheer anticipation. I am confident that I will prevail though. My will is strong.
I am watching the classic western, "The Wild Bunch" and am somewhat put off by seeing Ernest Borgnine in a younger form. I guess it makes sense that he didn't spring from the womb the spry 65 year old I remember from Magnum PI and Matt Houston episodes, but it isn't any less disconcerting. The titular Bunch has just stolen some guns from the Army. I have a feeling things are about to get messy.