entrenched disease

This stupid whatever-it-is refuses to go away.
I thought I was getting better, but it seems happy to amble along indefinitely at about 3/4 strength. Not completely debilitating (he said, posting from work) but enough to suffocate my joi de vivre. And nights are a treat, with Fuss & my clogged lungs taking turns playing alarm clock. I finally gave up on sleep at 6 this AM and adjourned to the computer, anodyne of the insomniac.

So, off to the doc tomorrow, likely for some antibiotics. The Wife thinks I've got pneumonia. It's certainly a tenacious, unpleasant houseguest, whatever name we end up attaching to it.

Fuss has been in a fey mood himself the past few mornings.
Today I triggered a shrieking, face-down collapse on the kitchen floor by offering him a sippy cup of water. I sat down at the table chin in hand and watched him wail. I usually pick him up however theatrically artificial his distress, but this morning my reserves were low.

Our tableau held for longer than you'd expect, like an outtake from Stranger Than Paradise. Then the sound of a trash truck working its way down the street broke the spell.

Fuss lifted his head from the floor, red faced, and said

"Whassat? Whassat?"

"It's the trash truck- c'mon!"

He sprang up and we adjourned to his viewing platform at the foot of the bed- I pulled up the blinds and he spent the next ten minutes exclaiming over the strange machinations of the garbageman's trade.

This snapped him out of his funk and we passed the rest of the morning companionably enough, although he never would eat breakfast.