My depression left me this morning. A brewing cold replaced it. We leave for Dallas tomorrow morning and we haven’t packed yet. We’ll get around to it. I’m hoping this is an illusory cold and not one of those nasty real ones. Maybe it’s the beginning of a cold that will not take root, like when you get warning signs only to find out that there’s not always fire where there’s smoke. I’m mixing my analogies again like pineapples and apples in a milkshake. My older sister is home sick with strep throat. Now, I’m far enough away from New Jersey not to have to worry about he being contagious—but, now that I think about it, I did talk to her on the phone a few days ago. I’ll have to ask Doolies if germs can pass through the phone line. I hear that they can if the conditions are right. You know, the sun and moon aligned and the planets circling like planets, well, circle.

This is bad. My nose is running and my eyeballs are leaking. That last part sounds so original and yet I know it’s probably been written millions of times before. Ignore those times. Mine is clearly the first and only instance of such poetic and deep feeling words. My body aches and I’m running out of things to complain about to meet the Goal. I keep switching over to the internet hoping it will inspire me. Surprisingly it hasn’t. That doesn’t stop me, though. Not that I should be stopped. I’m halfway there. I need to put the blinders on and finish this puppy.

Doolies wants me to pack. I have to resist to finish the rest of these words. Today was a slow day. I worked from home as the office was empty. Being home all day, even with the Doolies, can wear me out. I don’t know what it is about breathing the Castle’s air, but it tires me out and even sickens me. Maybe that’s what I’m coming down with: castle-itus. It’s to the airport tomorrow morning to escape it.

As for the dialogue below it’s based off real conversations I have with the Doolies. She doesn’t understand that when I’m complaining and miserable, she needs to comfort me. Not walk away and abandon me to life’s miseries. Or maybe she does understand and gets intense amusement out of watching me suffer uncomforted. I’ll have to ask.

Speak of the Doolies, she gave me a couple of sweaters and a pair of slippers for my birthday. I haven’t owned slippers in a long time. I think she’s trying to convert me to a slipper wearer. I’m not sure how I feel about that. I’m more of a barefoot or socked-foot dweller. I guess we’ll see if my new suede on the outside, white fuzzy fur on the inside slippers will convert me. I’m easily manipulated, especially with cold feet. I’m thinking part of my illness comes from cold feet. My feet are pretty far away from the rest of my body, and I can see how the cold could seep up through the floor, into my bare soles, and up to my body to get me sick. Not that I believe in that old wives’ tale about being cold (as in temperature) means you’ll get a cold (as in illness). Seattle is still cold. One of these days we’ll break out of these cold spell. This isn’t Seattle weather. It’s supposed to be rainy and cool, not freezing. I’m going to find the weatherman and give him a piece of my mind. Or is it weatherperson now? Yup, Word seems to think so.

I’m waning here. I’m sure this forced writing is torturing some of you. I don’t mind it so much. My hands, like the rest of my body, is aching a bit. It’s almost ten, and seeing as we have to get up at five or six tomorrow. And here I was looking forward to sleeping in finally after too many early van mornings. The rest of the weekend we’ll sleep in. Until I fly home, that is. I think that flight is early as well.

There we go. The word count is rapidly approaching four digits and I’m going to sign off and leave it be. It’ll be better tomorrow. It’s always better tomorrow.