It's day-three of a wicked cold, and I feel only nominally better. My sleep was restless because of the congestion. That's right, phlegm. I love that word. In fact, it's right up there with PUS. Gross stuff. Good times.
Today's things-to-do list included (notice past tense) laundry, Christmas shopping, wrapping of gifts, washing the truck and cleaning up my bar after friends (read: I) messed it up.
When I woke up and looked out the window, I found that the area had been slammed with about a foot of snow. And by a foot, I mean one inch - but drivers around here believe it's a foot. Combine this new dynamic with the expected shopping traffic, and there's no chance I'm leaving the house today.
So, scratch the shopping/wrapping... and scratch the washing of the truck, it'll just get dirty again. On the basis of pure futility, scratch the cleaning up of the bar. That leaves laundry, and it's drying now.
So I'm free for the rest of the day. What shall we do? And keep it clean.