in which we start to believe that the sick, it may never stop

  • Comfort movies? Check. (Christmas Story, Lars and The Real Girl, Battle Royale, back episodes of Mad Men, This American Life.)
  • Anti- nausea drugs? Check. (Phenergren. Ick.)
  • Painkillers? Check. (Large- dose Motrin, aka: “Ranger Candy”.
  • Tea and teakettle? Check. (Zeke’s English breakfast, also some cocoa.)
  • Electric blanket? Check. (Thank you, sweets.)
  • Comic books? Check. (Fables, Joker’s Asylum!)
  • Knitting? Check. (Supersecret giftage, moose mittens, French press cozy version 2.)
  • Enormous, supersoft sweatpants? Check. (Seriously. Before Sam sent me a pair, I got the smallest size I could find on post, which are easily 3-4 sizes too big in all directions. They’re huge and comfortable and slouchy, and I can put as many pairs of tights underneath as I please.)

Being sick is a lot less awful when you have the important things within arms’ reach.

Curse words said today: 0, but does it count if I hardly saw anyone all day?

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