Don't get me wrong.
I try very hard to get along with a certain un-named co-worker. But I can't help but feel that God is preparing me to oversee an orphanage of little boys who spent their formative years being raised by wolves.
I have a cough. I didn't purchase it at Sears, I did not inherit it, I do not even claim it as my own. Still, I have a cough.
It is now 96 degrees Fahrenheit outside, and Jason has a cough.
I DO have cough drops. Tis true. A bag of lemon-honey cough-suppressing little gems to make me feel better and assuage the itching of my throat. I don't like coughs. I don't like hearing others cough and hack and try to expel phlegm from their esophagus. Their esophagus'. . .esophagii. . .what a strange word.
Congratulations to Alan Webb, native Virginia, who yesterday ran a 3'30" 1500m (a 3'47" equivalent to the mile) in Paris. This is the fastest time run by anyone this year, so far. The Tour de France begins today. An American has won this for the past eight years. Our best option cette annee is George Hincapie, another Texan.
Things I did today: make banana bread, cough, nap, work 4 hours, cough, eat pancakes and coffee, cough, eat cough drops, ponder the meaning of Life, cook spaghetti squash and make spaghetti sauce, deposit money into checking account, mindlessly check alot of web sites on my browser to see what all the other blogging perfect strangers are doing and cough while doing so, read, write. . .and perhaps this is not the most interesting post du jour in a while.
I needed to do that.
(Stress you know)