My husband, who never gets sick, is sick. He has been coughing up a storm, and snoring to beat the band because of respiratory crud, and I have been sleeping on the living room futon because at least it's quiet there, which means I've been sleeping dreadfully, and maybe that's why I've been feeling like an oversized cosmic zester swooped down from the sky and removed all of my zest.
Some of it is that this has been an unusually unpleasant finals week, and that I have a meeting scheduled for tomorrow that I expect to be seismically, memorably unpleasant (although a small part of me (a very very small part) is looking forward to seeing my fabulous chair in action). But eating and sleeping poorly are not helping.
A person could spend a long time trying to figure out whether it should really be "ravell'd sleeve" or "raveled sleave" or some other orthographic permutation, or a person could spent a long time sitting on the couch thinking she ought to squeeze in some yoga before bed. Or a person could propel herself off the couch and thence to bed, and know that she will probably feel a more re-zestified in the morning if she chooses that route.
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