I had ambitious plans to write this weekend, to finish a couple of essays and poems. I have my envelopes ready to send out more work and even bought quality paper. But life has other plans which include a nasty, nasty cough. I feel like a weepy character in some old Victorian tragedy, I'm even coughing up blood. Weakness is lame. Not being able to breathe well is even lamer. I have no energy except to make soup and sit wrapped in a blanket with a heating pad on my chest to ease the pain of breathing. And yes, I would love some cheese with my whine.
Astrud Gilbert & Stan Getz