head cold

Upon peering out my bedroom window, what our new fence really looks like is a railroad car. It looks like Great Northern parallel parked at the edge of the yard. I'm dying to get a life-size stencil and paint "Santa Fe" or something on it.

For the past three days I have had a head cold. A bad one. It sounds so innocuous: a head cold, the common cold, a summer cold -- as though one could concievably go along with life, happily unaffected by the little bug. Well, it levelled me. I am still not myself. There is a respository for sludge in all the corners where my best thinking once lurked. It has always been a little difficult to get next to, but now I can't think for shit. I am better today, can, at minimum, type -- and want to make a pitch for orange flavored alkaseltzer plus. It is all I have to cling to.

I am such a baby. And we had to build a fence in the meantime.

The girls painted the basement. That was our quality time this weekend. I still maintain they hate me, and I can live with that. I'll admit I wasn't much help in my weakened condition, but they did fine without me. The basement is now red. Red red. With posters of the Ramones and a blow up of the Sticky Fingers album cover. I wonder if they know what an album is, or what an uproar that cover caused. I peeked. I confess. You might as well know it.