"She's not a Chinese puzzle box like you."—Chris

I forget sometimes that what I write here doesn't necessarily have to come with an explanation or an easy answer. Some days and some sentiments require me to take a deep breath and trust that what I say will be accepted for what it is, no more and no less, because I am as complex as my life and as simple as my love.

Live and sleep-deprived from Colorado, I present … us. Click the photo for a larger version.

Pandora is the little uber-plushy penguin on your left. Phoebe is the larger penguin with the knitted hat and scarf that we liberated from a thrift store earlier this week.

(Peter, the original Disco Penguin, is at home, guarding the cats.)

I wondered where I'd be. I got the answer tonight; an answer that was nearly four years in coming. As usual, the answer wasn't what I expected.

It was less.

It was more.

It became real to me as I watched the power lines swoop from pole to pole. No amount of packing or planning had managed to do so; the days after PHE had flown by in a fever haze that made the date of the trip slip up on me sooner than I could have possibly expected.

"Well, if you need me to take you to the doctor's office, call me back and let me know. Today's a quiet day. I can do it."

"I think I'll be able to manage. Thanks, though."

I hung up the phone and lay back on the couch. Maybe I'd get some sleep. I set an alarm clock, just in case, and closed my eyes. Only to cough. Again. I put another pillow behind my back and pulled the blanket up a little higher.

I looked down when I heard the little interrogative chirp?, knowing it meant only one thing—Edmund warning me that he was about to jump on my chest. I patted my chest and he hopped up, great lumbering tub of lard he is, and snuggled on my chest. He beamed a kitty smile at me and purred, gently flexing his front claws in rhythm with his breathing.

I spoke with one of the nurses at my GP's office today, and I will be seen this afternoon. They're concerned at how long this mystery illness has held on, and I [unfortunately?] made the mistake of coughing while I was on the phone.Apparently I have the unmistakable rattle of Peruvian Death Flu.

So! In the true spirit of this website, and my sick sense of humor … place your bets. What do I have? Bonuses for creativity of answer or whatever I feel is worthy of a bonus (or just not coughing on).