Because it’s got nowhere to go but up.
The saying goes you should never write when you’re drunk. A subcategory of that might be: never write when you feel like crap.
There is good news to report. Yesterday’s raging river of snot has become today’s gurgling forest stream of snot. My sneezes are no longer waking all the dogs in the neighborhood (though the cat is glaring at me more than usual).
Just another nasty cold to ruin any hope of ringing in the new year. Then again, we never ring in the new year. It’s like St. Patrick’s Day to those of us with the alcoholism gene: amateur night.
The bad news is no hiking pictures this week. But the weather around here has been so nasty the past few days that going out and having an invigorating outdoors experience would be an affront to those who got their exercise by digging mud out of their flooded stores and businesses. Much of the wine country was under water yesterday, and there’s a new storm coming in today.
Well, I hear the couch calling again. Sitting upright too long is just what my cold wants, and I’m not going to give it the satisfaction.