I am thinking cold, as in aching, coughing, sinus pain and a miserable night. I usually say I have “a cold” but this little baby feels like it is in a different category – a Stephen King category; it hovers in my chest and around my personality like an unpredictable, looming doom. Therefore, I call it “the cold”.  And today I decided to throw something scary at “the cold” and sat down in the middle of a good deal of mail that has accumulated about Mother’s death. Up until now, I had just let it stack up and then let the stack fall over and then start a new stack.

Now, I have a trash bag of processed paper. And I feel better as if “the cold” has taken  a solar plexus punch. However . . . there is this matter of income and property taxes and car titles and oh, gosh, lots of stuff.

Ah-Choo