I’m not writing about the weather; I’m writing about “the AmeliaJake full-fledged congested chest” – and I find that an example of life’s unfairness since I have never had a chest in the after puberty way that most females do. Flat as a board; and I slouch so I think my chest actually curves inward. I have let these sentences take this tack because I need to laugh at myself with my fingers since chuckling aloud initiates a spasm of coughing that sounds like gravel being shaken in a tin can.

And, actually, I’m feeling better now – noisier, but better. I haven’t had a real cold in a long time and, in fact, I have been expounding the theory that I have been exposed to so many cold viruses over the years that when I feel one coming on, my body surprises me and drags up so antibodies from some cold when I was six, 18, 39 or somewhat older even. The cold hanging over me seems to say, Oh, never mind.

NOT THIS TIME. I have actually cancelled plans because of this cold because it has been so tiring, playing with my oxygen consumption during the day and waking me up at night. I’ve been to worn out to read and that says a lot. OKAY, enough complaining. (But, AmeliaJake, you have such a talent for it! Those folks at the Foo Bar have such a knack for reminding me of my traits. I may have to institute a cover charge.)

It is frustrating having this cold cause me to cancel a trip to the Ohio Redoubt; Der Bingle is one to wait on me without even being asked. I take it for granted and I’m certain I have developed an almost subconscious use of little suggestive, trigger sentences that will have him volunteering to go to the store for some treat or tucking my feet in with a special blanket . . . or letting me watch whatever I want on Netflix without even a sigh. I’m shameless – subconsciously, of course.

Tuesday, I take the car into the repair garage and get a rental. I may have mentioned it in the last post, but I am tempted to say, Let me pay more and have a Hummer for the three days. That could be disastrous – Fine, you don’t want to play nice with the lanes, let me just drive over you. Or finding out if I really could drive off-road all the way to the LaGrange House. I should never be allowed to have a big vehicle such as that; with it would come responsibility that I am not hardwired to handle. It’s almost fun to imagine me with a tank, although that brings up the image of Dukakis in one during the 1988 campaign and nobody should have to revisit that vision. (Well, here’s an example of losers being dropped like hot potatoes: automatic spell-check says Dukakis is not a word. Too bad it doesn’t question Biden. But then, I suppose it doesn’t because Biden has probably become a synonym for clown, jerk, bozo. Or, maybe, it is a verb now: to biden.)

Altogether now: AMELIAJAKE CAN’T STAND THAT MAN.