A Mix

I've got no water.

I've got no fever.

I've got no voice.

But Briton came by this morning, picked up the food, and went to Hannah's so they could have Thanksgiving.

Still No Thanksgiving, and. . .

 . . .still feeling awful.  Negative on COVID, though.  If you've ever endured the horror of being swabbed for strep, you can imagine the misery of one of those swabs being jammed up your nose.  Some cures are considered worse than the illnesses they treat;  some tests are so definitely worse than being sick.

Pretty sure I've done some online shopping over the week.  Not entirely sure, as days and fever and nights and medicines and sleep have all run together.  We'll see.

Flold? Clu?

 Aching all over?  Flu.

Sneezing?  Cold.

Chills?  Flu.

Sore throat?  Cold.

Skin achy and sensitive?  Depends on the chart.

Joint pain?  Flu.

Drippy nose?  Cold.

Check the charts and you'll be as confused as me as to what has laid me low and made us cancel Thanksgiving plans.

Yeah, More of These

A country mile is just as long as any other mile.  (Like the "Which weighs more, a pound of feathers or a pound of lead" deal.)   

I shouldn't want to be of someone's "ilk."  The word is unpleasant, don't you think?

You're going along thinking things are okay, then you get a new pair of scissors, and they cut so cleanly and glide so nicely that you realize you'd been living a lie.

I've learned two new words lately, and they are coolly similar: "apothic" and "aphotic."

Were they called "fairy tales" because they were told by fairies, or because they were about fairies?

Why is it necessary to call them "breakfast cereals"?  Are there lunch and dinner cereals?

Why do ribbing and seed stitch go at such different speeds, when they're both K1, P1 again and again?

Do you knit or purl faster?  I'm a speedier purl-er.

Does anyone remember ice milk?  That was a thing once, right?

Other things can fall and might or might not make a noise.  Trees shouldn't get all the glory.

*throb* *pound* *ache*

Somewhere along my life's way, I began having frequent and debilitating headaches.  I don't know when that was, which is odd.  (Likewise, I don't know when my depression set in.  I remember episodes from my first year of grad school;  I even remember a couple from when I was very young.)

ANYway. . .

I've had an atrocious headache for a couple of days.  At my appointment with my psychiatrist last week, I was given a new prescription to help lift me out of the whatever-you-want-to-call-this-gray-pit-I've-been-in, and I've wondered if the headache could be tied to that.  But there were too many days between the start of that and the onset of the headache.

So, I'm just miserable and for some reason decided all this was worth making a blog post about.

First Come, Right?

 These are the types of days when, even if you want to sit on the back porch in the sun, all the seats are taken.

It's That Time

Out driving the other night, I saw that a Chick-fil-A near us had turned on its holiday lights.  ("Turned on" instead of "put up" because they're never taken down.)  I can't possibly do their you-can-likely-see-them-from-Space quality justice, so look up a video on YouTube where you'll get the whole building.  (Just about any combination  of "Chick-fil-A," "Athens, GA" and "holiday lights" should get you there.)  They're very pretty in that way that things that are extremely gaudy can still move you. 

So You See How All This Adds Up to a Week

Tap and I have both had trouble along our respective digestive tracts this week.  It hasn't been pretty.  Neither of us wanted to do much more than lie very still, me under quilts, him beside me when jumping up didn't set something off.

It's game day here.  The pre-game flyover came this way, and it was window-rattling and loud.  And cool.