Wednesday, March 14, 2007

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.

Not yet.

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.

Yeah, right.

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