My normally-robust Anglo-Saxon pedigree has failed me. I have a cold.
I thought I lectured too much on Wednesday. I'm sure my students agreed. I went home with a sore throat, and when it wasn't gone on Thursday I was suspicious that the cold was looming.
On Friday I ferried my gear back to T's house for the Thanksgiving weekend. Marianne came over for a pizza and some quality time, but in the short time she was over, I filled up with sneezing and stinging eyes and so on.
All weekend I have napped and moped and knit and sucked back fresh ginger tea (I'm talkin' chopped-up-ginger-root fresh) as if it were some panacea. It's not, but it's tasty.
I think, though, by tomorrow I should be better, and then I can dive back into the world of rotting minds. Moulding. Moulding minds...