Notes from a shut-in

I must have seriously offended the Cosmic Deciders. Lord knows I try to be good. The list of repairs, improvement,  mowing, preparations for winter, and general titivation of Camp J would do credit to a man half my age. So what thanks do I get? A case of flu-like crud whose demand for Kleenex requires a re-thinking of the month's budget.

Yesterday, at 2 p.m.,  I was exercising the chain saw and splitting maul on a pile of ash and elm, smugly congratulating myself for a good start  on the 2011-2012 home heating needs. At 2:30 p.m.I was crapped out on the  couch, the teevee on, moaning about a sandpaper throat, sinuses overloaded with weapons grade mucus, the bodily strength of a bunny, and a four-aspirin headache.

It's mildly better this morning,  but I have a legal case against The Council of the Fates. Surely a proscription is written somewhere against imposing this sort of dysfunction during the most glorious week any October could could be expected to produce.