I hate being sick when it's so nice outside...

If this stupid bug would just manifest itself, make itself heard, instead of making me drag my ass around all day! I mean, if you're sick enough to stay in bed, and have no appetite, and do something dramatic like barf or not be able to leave the bathroom for long, then you're legitimately sick! I hate this wishy-washy half-hobbling germ that keeps me from doing what I want to do. Hmmm, anger: first step to recovery?
Well, at least I got my mom out for two 8 block long walks, plenty of chicken-communing time, and direct sunlight; she once again greeted the wall builders with her high school Spanish from
the mid 1930's, and they sweetly acknowledged her.
Off to bed early with the next book group pick, Shadow of the Wind, by Carlos Ruiz Zafon. Even the title is striking me as oozing cliches; even the author's NAME is grating, it sounds like one of his thin yet overwritten characters. Now, maybe it's a result of its being a translation from Spanish, but this book is annoying me. Instead of dogs barking in the distance, there are dank, decaying interiors with intermittent dripping in the background. Muy estupido!