I still feel miserable and achy, but the Alka Seltzer is helping, Sis got me something for the runny nose, but she says it is important to drain the sinuses to prevent headaches and any infection, my fever has come down a bit which is a good sign, but I'm still eating lightly, although I think a little appitite is coming back.
I've been sleeping mostly, taking a good hot shower helps even though it tires me, Sis, Louise and Doyle have been doing a lot of hard work picking up what I can't do, I appreciate what they do.
Everyone had to leave this morning and left me to my own divices, which I understand completely, Doyle and Sis call every now and then to check on me, which I have done when they've been sick and yet I had to work. In a way the peacefulness is good, because all I did was sleep, except when I had to sign for a Fed Ex package for Sis.
Louise to see her lawyer and her friend who owns the complex and then I think to buy a few things for her place, I told her to use my car, when she left her husband she called a taxi because they only had one car, and she said she certainly didn't want it.
Sis with clients, Doyle with several assignments. But I told them to be careful driving for it was foggy this morning, Doyle said there was no fog in last night's forcast, so it was unexpected, but I wondered why I heard fog horns faintly this morning, now I know why.
Poor Belladonna and Wiener Dog were puzzled by it, they thought it hides the Boogins. Doyle had put out the portable metal fencing to keep the dogs in an area where I can see them when they go out side until all the work is done on the fence and the gates installed.
I stepped out onto the back porch with my cup of hot tea and just enjoyed the fresh feeling of the air, that foggy dampness that is not rain but surrounds you like a shawl, in many ways I like fog better than snow or rain.
It's mysterious, it creates mystery, its the stuff of old Film noirs and horror movies, it hides the imperfections of the city, it makes even my back yard mysterious, spooky, unreal and creates a hidden distance into nowhere, from which a mysterious figure could emerge, like Sam Spade, Philip Marlow, Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson, the hound of the Baskervilles or Heaven Forbid! Jack the Ripper.
It's the atmosphere of ships at dock, abandon wharfs, fog horns in the distance, gloomy castles, lonely cemeteries where strange beings rise up from hidden depths, and it's just perfect to enshroud your home, press against your window with tendrels that cling with wet damp foggy fingers, the atmosphere of claustrophobia, to make you want to curl up in front of a fireplace, with a cup of hot chocolate and a good book to read in the evening, in the hopes that the flames from the fireplace will keep back that which is hidden, unseen in the dark.
The down side of this romantic outlook on fog is dangerous driving conditions, slippery sidewalks, catching cold. Oh well one can't have it all, come to think of it I do have a good murder mystery to read this evening if I feel up to it.
Doyle will record Grimm and Dracula for me should I fall asleep, mouth open and snoring, not at all looking beautiful or romantic but just an elder goth with the flu and I know he'll tuck the blanket around me and quietly get into bed to not distrube me, and hope that I do not have another retching attack and pay homage again to the toliet bowl god.
He's a good man.