March 10, 2004

    Today does not feel like March.  It feels like July, because it is so beautiful out, because all the windows are open, and because my garden flows with the green leaves of vigorous annuals, and smells faintly of alyssum and last night's barbeque.  And it feels like November, because I am sick, and huddled inside with my blankets and books, and Kleenex and juice, waiting for my strength to return.

    A good day, wasted.  Part 2 in a series.  Too hot to cuddle under in bed, too tired to work out in garden or go shopping.  But I am trying to make the best of it, by reading a lot and, of course, playing SimCity.  At this rate, I might even finish Passage before I return to work (tomorrow).  That would be something.  Excellent book, by the way, but not the best book to read when you're sick and home alone.  At least not if you're a wus with an over-active imagination, like me.  Unfortunately I was already hooked by the time I got sick, so now I've got no choice.