I have a cold; I thought last evening I might possibly be a little sinus-y or newly allergy prone. But, no; it is a cold. It is Summer’s cold.  She gave it to Der Bingle as well and he went back to the Ohio Redoubt of the West Facing Cave at noon. We ichatted – a bit of video chat and, he wasn’t lying, he did have two shirts and a hooded sweatshirt on. I was under two comforters and an afghan.

It was a fuzzy, fuzzy out of kilter day, but tonight I am feeling more like “myself with symptoms”. And I have a cough syrup with codeine so perhaps tonight I will sleep, as opposed to last night’s painful throat, running nose, heavy chest and uncomfortable cough. Yes, Der Bingle, I will see your body ache and raise you a lip rubbed raw by the friction power of Kleenex. I must be truthful; at the start, I used Kleenex but I moved on to Great Northern toilet paper . . . the softly quilted type.

Now I am cuddled down with my pillow and aspirin and a WWII spy movie. Alas, it has James Mason in it and for some reason, I find him a villain no matter what the role.  I cannot imagine James Mason as a nice little boy any more than I can see him as a decent man. I know he’s acting, but, by gosh, it seems so easy for him – this deviltry stuff.

I have convinced my mother to see a doctor for a baseline check-up, her first in decades. The fact that she agreed has me concerned; Glenda, Ann and Susie – we will keep our fingers crossed. I am scheduling it next week in the afternoon. I don’t know if I want to have her be the first appointment in the afternoon or choose a later time when she will have to wait and, therefore, be in prime form. Of course, if she has to wait too long, she might walk out; then again I could pass out from the stress of sitting with her in the waiting room.

I always thought she was unnerving, sitting there in the passenger seat like a black and yellow crash dummy, whenever I drove . . . but compared to this, that may seem like a cakewalk.