I’ve never really liked the phrase under the weather. Aren’t we all below it, within the realm of our own atmosphere, at least technically? I would think so. Anyway, I’m outlandishly sick. I hate being sick because I’m the ultimate baby. Honeybee’s sick, too, but if it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t have eaten or taken medicine or found the cough drops. And he’s upstairs making coffee! You can’t beat that kind of sweet. I realized yesterday that I have a real problem with resting. Here’s an excerpt from real, albeit delirious, conversation with Honeybee:
“I was measuring the bed while I was in it for the floor plans. Then the coffee table. I got up to measure the desk and got dizzy and had to sit back down.”
“Why not just rest?”
“I don’t want them to think I’m lazy.”
“I don’t know. All of them. Anyone. Everyone.”
“I know, but I’m almost certain I’m going to die, so if I do, you tell them I wasn’t lazy.”
Odelay, yes?! Indeed. Here’s to things you can do in bed [brown chicken brown cow]!