November 29, 2016 - Tuesday
39 degrees/rain/breezy
Pentoga Road

Not much to talk about this morning. The creeping crud has grabbed hold of my head, throat, and lungs, and is calling all three home. 

I fought the symptoms for a couple of days last week and they had completely disappeared for two or three days around Thanksgiving. I had already crowned myself the victor.

An all too familiar tickle returned to the back of my throat two days ago. It progressed into a full-blown cold and has become a real respiratory pain in my backside... or head... or throat... or lungs.

I tried to work in the shop yesterday, but I wasn't into it. I cut, turned, sanded, and did all my favorite wood working activities, yet all I wanted to do was come back in the house and sit by the wood stove. 

No pictures, no thrills and spills, no nuthin' this morning. I just want my mama to rock me and tell me everything's going to be all right. 

I'm in a bad way here. I tried that line with Sargie, but she said she didn't want my germs and Mom's not going to arrive for the holidays until the 15th.

Sigh... I guess I'm going to have to do this one alone, solo, mano a mano,  battle the germs of evil. 

It's as I keep saying, but no one seems to listen...

A man's work is never done.

So are the tales from Pentoga Road...