A stuffy Catholic Librarian...

Sigh. So, in the midst of all that has been going on recently, I acquire a cold. Henry has had one, but it didn't linger, and he's getting better. Saturday night/Sunday morning I woke up with a focused headache that pierced my very skull. I have *never* had a headache like that before, ever. Sure enough, after stumbling to find ibuprofen at 2 am and wimpering through the rest of the night, I awake Sunday morning with a head stuffed to the brim. I sniffled through that day, popped Ibuprofen on a regular basis, and gave up all modesty with regards to blowing my nose in public. By Tuesday, my nose was so raw I was ready to sever it from my face. It's been a long time since a cold has made me this miserable and difficult to live with. So, Wednesday, I did the best thing ever and picked up a box of Puffs with lotion. Sweet Mother of God, do they make a difference. They actually make a new sub-category now with Vicks right in the tissue. Isn't that a miraculous invention? The grocery store didn't have those, though, so I had to settle for the lotion. All the same, they worked their magic, and though my nose is still pretty gross (aren't you glad I'm telling you this story?) it's at least allowed to stay on my face.

So then, it seemed like I was getting better. I stayed home yesterday to paint the master bedroom (a smashing, warm pumpkin color) and my nose blowing finally seemed productive. I felt confident that I was on the upswing.

Well. Then it got to be time for bed. I started to cough. Nefarious, vile little virus. I desperately tried to make the cough go away by not moving, and as you might expect, that didn't work. Pretty soon I was hacking enough to awaken people in the next town. Mike offered to sleep down in the guest room futon so that I wouldn't have to make things even harder on myself by trying to hold back the coughs. I know that he secretly loves having that futon all to himself to stretch out in whenever one of is sick in the coughing fit sort of way, so I gave him leave. He escaped just in time, before I switched on the Hallmark channel to find a Golden Girls marathon. Eureka. The night suddenly looked up. (Mike's reaction the last time he got in bed and got a load of the Girls: "Oh. Oh God.") It was a Christmas episode, and before Dorothy's ex-husband Stan had even stopped acting stupid, I was asleep. Shortly, I'm awakened by Hank padding into the room, looking skeptically at the Golden Girls. I switch off the tv, and find that I've reached that miraculous zenith when the coughing has ceased and your chest has relaxed. I fall into a blissful slumber.

At 5 am, I awaken to hacking. Oh right, that's me. I hack. And hack, and hack, and hack. I try all contortions of different positions, to no avail. I cannot sleep. But I'm exhausted, so I keep nodding off, only to be awakened by that devilish tickle in my throat followed by hacking. I finally doze, approximately 10 minutes before I have to get up for the morning.

I'm so very tired. I have no notion of how I'm going to bellydance tonight, but somehow I'll have to try. I haven't been able to make class in weeks, and I miss it, and all my friends there. I have a date afterwards with a cup of tea and the afghan I'm crocheting. Very much like a little old lady, but I'm like that even when I'm not sick. Although I bellydance, so I suppose that raises my esteem a bit. At least I hope so.