I want full lung capacity back, dammit

Still here, am 99% recovered except for this damn cough that likes to flare up at 4am and wake up me and Yeats and the cats in the most uncomfortable way possible. Perhaps tonight's mega-Irish-fryup (black pudding, bacon, bangers, bread, tomatoes, cabbage, cheese, Guinness) will knock it out for good and all.

We are apparently getting one more blast of winter this week, Tuesday night into Wednesday. Our weatherman is being cagey--he's been wrong too many times already--but he seems quite sure we're going to get snowed on. Could be one slushy inch. Could be six inches. Could be a howling blizzard and one foot of the stuff. To whom do I protest?

We rented "Justice League" on-demand last night and watched it with beer and snark. Since my expectations were ground-draggingly low, it was actually...okay? Zack Snyder still has no understanding of how Superman works, Aquaman looked great but lost me every time he talked, and poor Cyborg was not given a lot to work with. On the plus side, Gal Gadot remains an actual literal goddess, and Ezra Miller's Flash was an unexpected delight.

Reading Log: A Fatal Waltz by Tasha Alexander; Iron Gold by Pierce Brown; Arcana Rising by Kresley Cole; Those That Wake by Jesse Karp; Hello Stranger by Lisa Kleypas; Always Coming Home by Ursula Le Guin; The Defiant by Lesley Livingston; The Stars Down Under by Sandra McDonald; The Children Money Can Buy by Anne Moody; Excellent Women by Barbara Pym; Memory in Death by J.D. Robb; Clouds End by Sean Stewart