meditations on death

or, I Have a Cold and a Penis; Therefore, I'm Dying

• The worst thing about being sick: the taste in your mouth after you wake up, gasping for breath, at 4 a.m. -- an acrid combination of cough drops, phlegm, orange juice, nasal spray and microparticles of dust hoovered in because having sinuses stuffed like sausage casing means you must breathe with your mouth open all night.
  
  
• "Blankets are okay, but they can slip and slide" ... I saw far too many commercials for The Snuggie™ between midnight and 6 a.m.; I'm going to get a red one, and look like a member of the Swiss Guard.
  
  
• When did college football bowl game season start lasting three weeks?
  
  
• I've never seen "The Great Dictator," so I'm kind of sad that the first time I saw this scene was on a small laptop screen. It seems to deserve something larger; the grace and beauty is there, but I would imagine it's far more beautiful writ larger:
  
  
  
  
• This adorable young lady deserves the blame for my cold, but I wouldn't trade my afternoon of babysitting for a healthy week ...
  
  
  
• I had an inspirational meeting the week before Christmas with a man from our church group; he was mesmerizing, uplifting and thoroughly entertaining, and I left Merridee's with the framework in place for some amazing changes in 2009, which I'll be documenting here presently.
  
  
• Oh, and apparently the meaning of "presently" that I intend above is archaic. Those pedantic assholes at Merriam Webster really piss me off. :)