Throughout the early part of vacation, whilst the poor masses (including Marcel) were falling like sick flies on the inside of a flourescent light fixture, I buzzed blythely about the pre-Xmas malls, proud of my stout immune system, stoically nursing my soulmate back to health. By the red-eye flight on the 24th, I thought I'd really gotten off scot-free.

nope.

For my pride, the viral strain I caught made sure I was flat-out, bed-bound at least an extra day and a half over everyone else. And so much for the if-I-get-sick-I'll-use-the-out-time-to-write. ha ha very funny. I was in strict non-output mode for the duration. Not so much as a crossword puzzle (though no great loss there: Toronto's tabloid masquarading as a newspaper doesn't offer Times-grade crosswords anyway).

I did get a chance to read Morrow's "Only Begotten Daughter"--a brilliant gift from my astute brother. I devoured it feverishly (sic/sick, heh). The data ARE provocative, indeed.

I later thumbed through a Koontz novel which caught me the way a train wreck or reality show catches the unsuspecting passers-by/channel-surfers. ugh. What a waste of recuperation time.

Slogged out of the guest bed to see RotK again. It probably wasn't the best sick-bed recovery outing event for its duration, but well-worth it, even the second time.

It snowed last night in Toronto, so I got to experience a white new year if not a Christmas. Marcel came to bed at three to tell me about it, so I reveled in it for about 3 bleary-eyed minutes before passing out again. By morning it had melted. Dew angels instead.

We're headed downtown to explore, well... downtown.

Happy New Year (*snork*)