Cold & Schweddy

Being sick pisses me off, and I'm not patient by nature. I've spent the entire day in bed today, buoyed by Ribena and chicken noodle soup from Jerry's Deli that Jumby kindly brought in for my supper. I've shared the bed with both dogs, both children, my friend Luc who came bearing Christmas gifts as I'm leaving on Monday. I've read Jeannette Walls amazing memoir "The Glass Castle" in one (supine) sitting and I've re-watched The Diving Bell & the Butterfly, which would make me cry even if I weren't feeling so pitifully sorry for myself. My throat is boringly raw and sore and I have a bumper roll of loo paper by my bed to blow my red nose. I just don't want to be a sniffling mess on the plane

J sleeps by me now, worried that he's going to catch this. I watch him sleep, happy for the company and make Christmas mixes for friends on iTunes, which includes two songs from the Diving Bell soundtrack, hoping I don't wake him and listening to the old dog smack her chops together and then trot off to the loo for a big, slurpy drink. J doesn't like Schnabel but he hasn't seen this film yet and I find myself defending him as if we're intimately involved with each other or as if he's paying me. I can't think of a film I like better this year. TWBB is a film I admire but it didn't jiggle me this way.

SNL replayed the Alec Baldwin "Schweddy Balls" episode - always a seasonal favorite "my, how they glisten." I must sleep now. Good night.