Protagitron Has a Cold

I have a cold. This isn't as exciting as when Frank Sinatra had a cold. Since it developed on the bus back from Guelph (my Mom's birthday meant I've double dipped on family time this month), the only other creatures you can ask for an opinion on me and my cold are my cats. And they would only say that I'm terribly cranky, then ask for food. 

It's an ache-y kind of cold (or flu?) The kind that feels like it's living deep in your joints and head. I want to curl around a cup of NeoCitran and sleep for seven days. Unfortunately, tomorrow is the first day of what will surely be the second busiest time of year chez job. Why? Because I work with professors, and so January is a bit like a mini-September, except the weather is worse and most of the instructors are much less prepared. 

And so I dragged my laundry to Toronto's seediest laundromat, because I didn't want to wallow in my own filth.

A similar movement will be repeated with my own body tomorrow. Oh well. There's always the consolation that any anger at any issues can be solved by letting out a feeble laugh over the phone.