After nearly two weeks of what was obviously not just a head cold, I finally gave in and went to a walk-in clinic today. I was hoping -- oh, how I was hoping -- for antibiotics. It is not often that one thinks, "Please let me have an ear infection," but I was at the point I just wanted to have something curable; for there to be something I could take to feel better. No more aching head, no more sinus pain, no more sore throat, no more congested ears that make it sound like the whole world has fallen down a well.
Only to be told that I have a particularly nasty virus, and that I'll just have to wait it out. "Grr," I said, and bought some crazy timbits. (Okay, so they're loukomades, but "crazy timbits" seems to sum them up nicely. You know, if you're Canadian and/or happen to understand the word "timbit".)
At least I've had good things to read: Michell Sagara West's new Luna book, the fourth Harry Dresden book, five collected editions of Fables (which brings me up to issue 41 or so in one fabulous go), and James Patterson's two Maximum Ride YA novels. My thigh-high stacks of books on the floor are soon no longer going to be my "to read" piles; they're just going to be bookshelf overflow.