I was all dressed for work today when my son tottered down the stairs, weak and trembly from some virus or other. I had to call in sick, and now there he sits, watching the obligatory sickness cartoons while the cat lounges at his side, momentarily loyal. While Graham gets back his strength I find myself with time I didn't think I'd have!
So it's back inside the three books I'm reading (one for homework) and then a chore here or there (a brief blog, as you see), and then--maybe, if the planets are in proper alignment and the boy doesn't grow more ill--some writing!
But first I must go do my Florence Nightingale routine. Graham says he has a terrible taste in his mouth, so I must find some food that will counteract that flu-ey feeling.
But surely there will be some time in the afternoon . . . .