Random view: Jilly and leaves in the morning sunlight.

I have been tired all week and managed to rustle up a cold for the weekend. A beautiful fall weekend when I could be out riding or, uh, working.

I’d like colds better if they weren’t so inconvenient, y’know? If they were at least fun, but no. Colds are like those “friends” that you can’t claim as friends without explaining something about them — the thing that makes you mime quotation marks around the word friends — like, “Oh, well, we really only know them through so-and-so, and they just sort of stop by on occasion.” Or, “Well, yes, he’s a nut-job that should be kept at arms length, but he’s always been pretty reasonable with us.” Or, “What am I going to do? Be rude to her?”

Colds are boring. You never get anything done while you have one, not work, not good rest, not a lick of thinking. They’re such a burden. They never like what you feed them, so you have to keep feeding them a variety of foods (or is that just me?). And they always show up at the wrong time.

What’s that all about? at: pam(at)viewfromthenorth40.com