It wasn’t altogether great, since Doug’s been getting further under the bad, fevery, can’t-hear-out-of-one-ear weather, and I might as well still be smoking seeing how I can’t shake this deep, bronchii-bruising cough. I’ve been sleeping a lot, and consequently have had some especially vivid dreams: ones where tooth upon tooth falls out over the course of a night and in a variety of other dream-milieus. One where I’m a protagonist in a cartoony video game featuring snooty high-fashion spokesmodels. One where I get my tax refund handed to me in a torn envelope by one of my coworkers, and it’s more than $13,000. And one in which I eat a peanut butter and jam sandwich on small pieces of whole wheat bread, and some of the peanut butter and jam oozes out and plops onto the brown paper bag I brought the sandwich in. I’m still very hungry, so I roll up the bag and take some bites out of it, and realizing what a terrible lunch this is, I fire up WordPress and start describing it in an entry titled, “So it’s come to this.”

Still, we played board games and listened to music Saturday, read, and have had some expansive conversations about our jobs and friends and site design and possible travel plans.

I had Presidents’ Day off, but Doug didn’t. I felt drugged most of the day — it was weird how narcoleptic I felt. I fought the drowse by cleaning the house, doing laundry, grocery-shopping, and doing my taxes. Go me.