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I’ve been battling a cold for the last couple of days (read: denying with the entirety of my being that I was sick), but it finally got the better of me. I spent most of yesterday in bed, and when I finally couldn’t stand it any more I went to town on my basement. Like literally, turned the mess of collected dust and flotsam and jetsam from the dryer, and random boxes and piles of “I’ll deal with it later” into a respectable space that I wouldn’t be completely mortified to show strangers.


Then, about halfway through the final vacuuming, I thought I was going to throw up, so I went back to bed. I had every intention of writing a post, but instead I slept. Perhaps you’ll forgive me. Perhaps not.

For the record, I’m not much better today, but I’m back at work because of “obligations” and the fear that taking more than one day off makes me look like a crazy person, and subject to more unwanted attention than I already receive.