I've come down with a cold.
One of those that starts with a tickle in the back of your throat. Then turns into a sore throat in the morning and the feeling that there's a 4-ton brick sitting right on your chest. And let's not even talk about the crap that's building up inside of me.
So I laid low this weekend. Drugged myself up with some of that Mucinex stuff. Slept. Thought about stepping on the treadmill living in my parents' basement but opted not to. In general, tried to feel better.
And I do, a bit. At least better enough that I might head over to the YMCA tomorrow.
But it wasn't all sickness and rest for me this weekend. I went to see Wicked Friday night with my parents - amazing - and yesterday I walked out on the ice to where my brother was ice fishing with The Rugrats. Nice brisk walk on a frozen lake full of fishermen cooped up in ice shanties, hoping to land the big old sturgeon. Good times.
Now it's time to curl up in a recliner and hopefully finish Gone with the Wind, the 1,024 page novel I've been reading for the past month and a half. Because what else am I going to do this afternoon?