Mice, men...you know the drill

Yeats came down with something--not the flu, thanks be to God, but some malignant cold variant--on Saturday, and we reluctantly decided that a concert, even an Ellis Paul concert, would be no fun while congested and mildly feverish, so we stayed home with hot whiskey punch and Netflix. He was better enough by Sunday for us to go out to dinner and go see "The Dark Crystal", and while he admitted to a catnap at one point (interrupted by Fizzgig's jump-scare intro in the marsh), he also agreed that it was a beautiful movie, ahead of its time, and understands how my first seeing it at age five or six may have affected certain of my tastes (quest narratives! Love at first touch! Talking to animals!).

Then I came down with the thing yesterday, forged into work, and made it about two hours before pitifully asking Aveline and Anders if it would be okay if I went home and died in peace. Spent the rest of yesterday on the sofa, alternating between napping and "Critical Role", with Hector affectionately soaking up my feverish warmth. I feel much, much better today, but Aveline and Anders are still keeping a prudent distance away, just in case.

*sigh* Well, after doing taxes, we owe a chunk of change even after refunds applied. We can swing it, and Yeats should be getting his quarterly audiobook check soon, which will help, but it's still kind of a kick in the stomach. I keep imagining our money used to buy Ben Carson some new dinnerware or 45 a new toupee, and grinding my teeth.

Reading Log: Death Below Stairs by Jennifer Ashley; Triple Threat by Gwenda Bond; Locke and Key: Heaven and Earth by Joe Hill; Shadowsong by S. Jae-Jones; The Ghost Map by Steven Johnson; A Treacherous Curse by Deanna Raybourn