Blechhhhhh

I'm sick--really, really sick--not horribly sick,  not life-threateningly sick, just miserably sick.  NightNurse gave me a full eight hours, but I probably needed 12.

Once again I was drawn from bed by a ringing doorbell.  This time the caller wanted to know if I had returned my polling record--or something like that.  I told my caller I was an American citizen and he said, "Hmmm.  Are you living here permanently?"  I said, 'no,' to which he replied, "So, should I just mark the flat as empty then?"  Well...I don't know.  Do what you must!  Seriously--why do I bother?  I can't function unless I have gotten out of bed naturally, and jeez, after 58 years, that case has been made repeatedly.

The fog in my head is almost impenetrable on days like this.  My ears are plugged up, my sinuses are clogged, there's a heaviness at the top of my chest--in short, I'm a mess. 

I needed to take care of one piece of business, and I had to do it at work.  Walking in to work was almost surreal.  I didn't feel connected to my body.   Walking on the bridge felt like I was walking on a trampoline--it didn't feel firm.

On the way back to my flat, I took a shot of the still flooded race track

and then noticed a classic symbol of frustration.

 It's rather evocative, doncha think?