It's been a tortuous (and torturous) week-and-a-half here in our land. Stomach virus #487 entered my son last week, and then cruelly and deliberately made its evil way first into my husband's and then my own innards. All I can say is thank goodness for indoor plumbing. I'll stop there.
It's times like we've had here lately, when I'm lying prone and nauseous, that I ponder frontiersmen and women fending off similar illnesses 175 years ago. How in the world did they do it? Can you imagine the foul situation? Especially in winter? And how about those Ingalls sisters, all FOUR of them? You ladies know what happens to monthly cycles when multiple women share close quarters... A long winter, indeed. Oh my. I cannot fathom it.
These are the things I think about while I study the strange, amoebic shapes that slide back and forth across my closed eyelids, constantly changing form (another phenomenon that only occurs when I am ill). Aren't you glad that I'm feeling better today, so I can move on to more positive, encouraging thoughts? Hurray! Happy Friday!