On the Genesis of Colds


I’ve missed you all the last several days. It’s been a while since I’ve had a stretch of silence this long. Part of it was running out of things to say—although that’s not really it given how often I actually run out of things to say. No, it had more to do with not having the time or the energy to think of things to say, coupled with the belief (perhaps overly optimistic) that I can catch up on all the entries I’ve missed easily enough.

So what’s actually been happening that can nudge writing off my daily list of essential things to do (alongside brushing my teeth and drinking a glass of wheatgrass)? Very simply, a lot. To wit:

(1)    the activation of my Christmas social calendar: the parties are finally starting, and no kidding, glaciers move faster than cars do in this traffic-jam-ridden metropolis;

(2)    my return to teacher-guided yoga: that’s half a day easily gone, and yes, traveling to different (flood-prone) parts of the city has a lot to do with the increased busyness too;

(3)    the arrival of my advisor’s comments on my thesis: addressing them was my agenda for today—happily enough, they no longer need to be my agenda for tomorrow;

(4)    an addiction to Downton Abbey: fortunately, after I catch the eighth and final episode of the second season later this week, the next chance this British period drama will have to wreck my life will be September next year; and

(5)    the confluence of various house-related repairs and upgrades: the corner garden now has rocks! (we gave up on plants after coconut vinegar, chili powder, and water guns failed to deter the neighborhood cats from using the area as a litter box).

I should be happy that things are on their way to settling back once again, except that all the disruptions have taken their toll.



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