There is still coughing. There is still bloody, clogged up nose. There is still trouble going to sleep because of there isses one and two. So, there is me awake at 1 am writing here.
Not that I have much to say. No, I am merely waiting for sleep to come. Tomorrow I shall post pictures of the marvelous things I've been making with rock and wire while waiting to see what would happen first -- my head exploding in a cloud of snot vapor, or my throat ripping itself out in a whiskey and Kathleen Turner extraveganza.
Either way, I need another box of Kleenex.
Oh, and The Husband is still burble-snorting, too, with the tail end of his personal portion of The Vegas Strain still sticking epoxy-like to his nasel cavities. Right now he's got a sort of staccato rhythm going. Ophelia is sleeping on his head.
Everyone needs a cat to slep on their heads, just like everyone needs a rock to wind a piece of string around.