I feel worse than a cold plate of clam sauce, sickness as my cold has regrouped and is knocking me about for a third time. But I am really just plain angry. I have been making a prince valiant effort to continue working in my studio. And in addition to the fabulous sundry cocktails, salve I have been taking vitamins and drinking vegetable juice. In other words, treatment I need this like I need a bra with three cups. Or a prosthetic nose or a Shania Twain record.
I am reminded of the latter because one of my housemates has wretched taste in music. And as the native english speaker of the house, I am often called upon to translate song lyrics of such noteworthy talents as Incubus. After one round of a song that contained the line “it goes round and round and round. like an existential carousel…”, I left the room telling her these things were not meant for earnest contemplation.