I'm just a cock-eyed pessimist

It's lovely outside.

And I don't feel good.

Currently thinking that not doing much today would be better for recovery than any of the other things I might do. Also think that any "doing" might entirely wear me out and perhaps the thought that I might "do" is misguided.

Today, I think, will be a reading day - a lovely, wasted sunny day. If only it were the middle of summer and I had another hundred of these to come. Perhaps later in the day I will do a turn in Bishop's Park and then feel like I enjoyed it just a bit.

Well, somehow I've convinced shadowdaddy to make dinner - chicken and peanut stew. I'm too beat to stand up long enough to cook. It's pathetic; going to the store to pick up a few groceries completely wore me out. I said I'm sad; J said I'm sick. Well, okay, it's just hard to be so weak and not feel lame.

While on my way out of said grocery store, I was briefly distracted into going into a bookstore, where they had a table full of books recommended by Phillip Pullman. I am fascinated; I think I am going to add all of them to my Amazon wish list. They really do look like good reading, and I think that list gives me ideas for Christmas presents for all sorts of people.

My Sunday: sleep until 11 (blissful lack of coughing); eat the nice waffles shadowdaddy made; say goodbye to him as he went to do something fun; find wechsler in Waitrose; let him make me lunch (salad and omelette); snooze on his couch; go back home. Yep, it was quite a day.