Kage Baker would have been wrapped up in lap robes tonight. She’d have had her slippers on over 2 pairs of socks, and been cuddling Harry and a cup of hot chocolate, with her feet up in front of the fire and something English on the telly.
At least, if she was fighting off this wretched cold or whatever it is, she would have. It’s more or less what I’m doing, while I wait to see what else my enraged sinuses decide to do. I suspect an alien spore disease, brought down to earth by the recent Geminids. Sometimes it feels like something is running laps in my nose.
The fine electric fire from Plow and Hearth is pulsing warmly. I am wrapped in blankets. What I have been chugging, though, is Sprite Cranberry. The bubbles ease the sneezing, and it tastes wonderful. You can only find it in the winter, but I have 2 12-packs in the pantry, thanks to Michael’s excellent foraging abilities. If I perish of this cold, I’ll be ever so happy while I go.
And I have my own wonderful elf-boot slippers. They’re amazing. They are black, you see, and lined with fur. They keep my feet warm and let me creep about silently at night. Mind you, it’s only because I like to wander about between my desk and the bathroom at night, when everyone else is asleep; but Kimberly indulges me.
She got me the sneaky black boot-slippers as a concession to my disregard for the niceties of self-care: like warm slippers. She knew I’d be likelier to wear those than nice sensible thick socks with reindeer on … for a similar reason, Kage got me black daytime elf-boots. The soles leave leaf shapes where I walk. They prevent me from running about barefoot in the winter.
I wear them both for the sake of the givers. They cared whether or not I died of exposure, so the least I can do is cooperate. They are the niftiest boots I have ever had, and it was pretty sneaky of both Kage and Kimberly to outflank me like that … but it lets me sit here wrapped in warmth and concern, while I fight off the Crud from Outer Space.
Harry’s gone to bed, full of pizza and lettuce from tacos. Now I can sit and quietly read over old posts from this blog. I’m re-reading from the beginning, and I am wondering if I’ve changed any over the years … not so far.
But I don’t seem to have gotten worse. So I guess I am breaking even. I can sit here and feel justified in lack of movement and utter laziness; I can cuddle cats, and wear slippers, and listen to my memories of Kage.
Pretty nice, for a winter Sunday. Sleep well, Dear Readers. Excitement and wild things and letters to publishers will resume tomorrow.