Not A Radio Station


Thats the peak of my temperature so far.   Though at one point the cartlidge in my ears felt like it was boiling.  I don’t think that’s normal.  And by the way, how do you spell cartlidge?  Because the squiggly line under the word tells me it’s spelled wrong.   Spelt wrong?  Ha!  Spelt is not correct either.  I knew that one.   Spelling or usage wise.

But the thing is, I’m sick.   And I haven’t the energy to go to and look up the correct spelling.   I wonder how many people would have even paid attention to it if I hadn’t pointed it out.   Uhm, I’m sick, so it doesn’t really matter.

This is my fourth bout of sickness in less than 2 months.   My fatigue factor is off the charts.

So sitting here writing is about as fancy as it’s going to get.   I dread having to get a cough drop.  I really dread getting out from the cocoon of blankets I have bundled in to in the recliner in the little living room.  And why is it when you have a fever that makes body parts feel like they are boiling-you freeze when you get in to the air outside of the cocoon?     Poor husband needs sleep and my jack hammer coughing is not conducive to good sleep.   Of which I have not had any of for a couple of nights.

Sadly, this does not make for much of an interesting blog.   Sorry bout that.   But again, I’m sick.   So there’s not much I can do about it.

I could just not write.   No.   I like the title too much.   I hope someone gets it.

I’m not happy to be sick.  But there is that little part of me that likes the quiet of the late night.  Everyone is sleeping.   I’m awake.  Thinking.   Reading.   Watching a little show.  Just enjoying the presence of ….being here.

Well, good night all.  I hope everyone sleeps well.   I’ll  try to keep a stifle on the coughing.