Things are looking up. No, for real this time.

I thought I was good to go after Sunday. Wrong. I woke up sick again Monday morning. What a crock. I spent all but an hour Sunday night not being able to sleep and then spent most of the day in bed. I was a bit better by last night though, and all in all, the day wasn't as miserable as Friday. Anyway, I think I really am on the mend today. I made it to work today anyway if that means anything. From what I hear, there's some serious crud making the rounds, so maybe it's not just our house. We only have about a dozen people in our company and we had three of us our for two days each last week and another out yesterday and today. And this afternoon, my boss said he wasn't feeling so hot either, which means his drive to California tomorrow ought to be a joy. Good luck George.

The only good thing I see about all this is that the lower caffeine intake seems to be sticking. I survived the whole day, including 3 hours driving, on only a cup of tea this morning. Silver lining.

On a lighter note, I realized the other day that I have been completely overtaken by nursery rhymes. When the Mizz was little, I couldn't hear a lot of the rhymes with out thinking of either Ice Cube's "A Gangsta's Fairytale" or the raunchy poetry of Andrew Dice Clay. Per Ice Cube, "There was an old lady who lived in a shoe; sold dope out the front, out the back marijuana grew; for the man who was really important; who lived down the street in a Air Jordan." I'm not about to write anything by Andrew Dice Clay. Mom would have a heart attack. Anyway, every time I heard a nursery rhyme, I heard something similar from one of them in my head. Actually, when the Mizz was just tiny, I even sang the other versions to him sometimes. He didn't care, and I had more fun that way. However, I realized the other day as Franny and I were singing a rousing duet of Twinkle, Twinkle, Traffic Light (same tune, different words) that I don't get those thoughts anymore. Now, instead, I hear nursery rhymes that won't leave me alone when I'm trying to go to sleep. At least I'm not Franny. She has to endure the Mizz's CD's on the way to and from work everyday. Poor woman.