So there I was, diligently composing an emotionally charged yet insightful post about the curious nature of friendship with all of its inevitable ebbs and flows, and petty tantrums--when I was struck down by an ague.
That's right. You read right.
An ague. And not some paltry, citified, but-I'd-really-rather-not-go-to-work-today ague either.
No, I'm talking a proper, knock-you-on-your-ass, kick-you-through-the-snow-then-pin-you-over-an-open-fire-til-you-pop-and-boil kind of ague. The sort of ague that befell fey Victorian heroines when they were accidently caught out in the rain. The kind of ague that had them panting and sweating (albeit daintily) in ornate four-poster beds, while their dashing Victorian men paced dark, drafty hallways, brows furrowing, fists clinching as they finally realize their undying love for the stricken lady.
I know, right? That's exactly the kind of ague I'm talking about. That was me last weekend. Dreadful. Pitiful. Grievous. Just plain sad.
I'm mostly over it now, so don't go breaking out your mourning attire just yet. Though I fear I may yet need a good leeching to suck out the infection that seems to lingering in my sinuses.
Elder Miss has it now. She's on day two of the fever and about to do my head in with her endless demands for "more blankets, more water, more Sponge Bob!"
I'm really only here today to call your attention to a bit of a milestone. An anniversary, of sorts. Take a look at the archives. It was exactly one year ago today that I started this two-bit operation. I know, I know. It was one post followed by another one 2 months later. Whatever. Point is I DID start it, see? So......Happy Birthday to my blog. Many happy returns and all that.