Viral laryngitis. That's what I have. I can't speak, and have been ordered by the doctor not to try. A doctor that looked like Eric Bana, by the way.
This, four days before my moving sale.
So, I have no voice, and occasionally break out in violent coughing fits. I hate those the most. They hurt. It started last week with the cold, and graduated into this. When the moving estimator came to my house today, he got a look of surprise on his face when I answered the door. "I thought you were a little old lady, based on your voice," he said.
By the end of this move, I'll be a few steps closer.
It was gorgeous out today. Warm, blue sky with big clouds and warm wind blowing my curtains from my open windows. Everyone was out, including the six-toed manx cat that I knelt down and pet for awhile. She is not to be mistaken for Sammy Six Toes, the other six-toed feline in the neighborhood.
At the end of the day today, I asked myself why I'm doing this move. Truth is, I don't have to move. Even after my moving sale, I don't have to. I know this illness is the stress this has put on me. So, I'm going to bed. My big bed, in my apartment. And I'm not going to think about moving.