Friday is for sneezing.

Due to the recent "security" concerns at my work, I have reset my password to everything work-related, but am still "locked out" of my work e-mail. I will contemplate whether that is a bad or a good thing, as I have been laid low by a new cold. This cannot be fair. I ask you.

When we got home from our whirlwind trip to Idaho, which, by the way, is a dang cold place, and where a restaurant called Smitty's ("Pancake and Steak House") closed at 8 p.m. on a Thursday night which happened to be Valentine's Day, I fell into bed after greeting a very excited Bruiser and slept the sleep of the infected for several hours. I got up, cautiously, thinking that perhaps I was feeling better--but it was an illusion, the kind of "maybe I'm not feeling so bad" delusion that comes after a three hour nap, after which you get up, rustle up a little snack, look at the paper, etc., and then you have a big attack of whatever it is that's ailing you, like it wants to teach you a lesson of who's boss.

This evening has been (a) DayQuil, (b) hot-and-sour soup that the historian fetched for me, (c) television with a side of dognap. Wow. The historian and I are supposed to celebrate our anniversary (which was Monday) tomorrow, nine years' worth of happy marriage, and I'm hoping for (1) a miraculous recovery, or (b) a successful self-dosage of OTC medications, either of which might approximate enough good health to allow for a little downtown action, a little revelry.