Being sick

I am in day two of sore-throat city that isn’t exactly debilitating but that, tied on to a general feeling of lethargy, has put me in my recliner watching Bad Santa, Mythbusters and commercials about dirty catheters because I don’t have the cable package that gets me college football. It’s about as pathetic as a weekend can get.
The thing is, I don’t feel terrible, just not well enough to drag myself into a pair of waders and onto a river after a two-hour drive. You know the feeling. I’d argue that this is worse than the caccoon-wrapped, seven-nap Saturday drinking tea and two gallons of orange juice that’s brought on by a virus with some barbs. That day sucks and there is no tease. Today I feel like a huge wuss then a half hour later justified in my confinement.
I spent a good portion of the afternoons this week tying caddis patterns for the late trout season, but here I am watching some chick with a shaved head marvel at the fact that she was tricked by Febreze. Sure I can tie some more flies, read or write something worth-while, but I can do that any day of the week. Making a weekend out of what happens on an ordinary Tuesday after work stinks.
Maybe I’ll go buy a pumpkin and carve a caddis fly.

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