Wasted Day

     I was determined to get on the downhill side of this cold today.  Got up, had a sketchy breakfast, showered, took one of the twelve-hour OTC expectorant pills I had ordered and took Huck to the vet for his arthritis shot.

     Drove back home and had nothing left.  Nothing.  I called in sick, laid down and dozed off.  Woke a couple of hours later, made easy Eggs Pomodoro (a strip and a half of peppered bacon, fried and set aside; canned plain tomato sauce with the run of the spice cabinet: "Italian mix," basil, diced minced onion, garlic, chives, parsley, a little celery salt, a half-dozen wasabi peas for zing: crumble the bacon in, get it simmering, break three eggs into it, add a little diced cheese to the yolks -- I break 'em, YMMV -- and save the rest for serving), ate it and felt like a well-used washcloth again.  I laid down, dozed off while posting something silly on social media, and woke up twenty minutes later, panting like I'd tried to run a mile.  It took several minutes to catch my breath.  I felt chilled, and dozed off and on under the covers with a heating pad.

     That was six hours ago.  Tam woke me at dinner time (a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for me, and that may have been too much).  I finally gathered enough wits to stick an oximeter on my finger: 92% with activity, flirting with the "maybe go see a doctor" level.  Which I will, if I still feel this lousy tomorrow.  Might be dancing around something ugly.  I'm still breathing like a bad imitation of Darth Vader in a housedress.  "Luke...I am your grandma!"
"No....!" [Lets go and falls away.]
Rats, and I had even baked cookies.  Ungrateful child.