If a person has to be home sick, might as well be underkittens. I’m watching Downton (season 4, which I previously abandoned and am now about to abandon again – it’s really not the best season, that’s for sure). There’s a crock pot of veggie soup going, and I got a new book on my kindle. I dreamed about a garden this morning: the only (and I mean only) good dream I had all night. The rest were terrible, violent, running, fighting, anxiety-laced dreams. Today I will nap, think of my garden-to-be, and gargle salt water. I am nervous about my beer, dismayed by something that happened in my office yesterday, and struggling to find my joy.
The clinic said I have (another) sinus infection and a virus. Once our new insurance begins, I’m planning to seek a referral to an ENT. Perhaps there’s something physically wrong with my sinuses that bears knowing about. My dad has had surgery twice; it’s not unreasonable to wonder if the same kinds of things are plaguing me.
In more cheerful news, the book I got for my kindle is really good so far. It’s magical realism, which is the kind of gentle story I am in the mood for. It’s called The Kitchen Daughter by Jael McHenry and the main character is a woman with Aspergers, which makes for a lovely, interesting, unique voice. I recommend it so far.