Graffiti in Warsaw

I used to think that getting a cold was a drag, and, don’t get me wrong, my throat’s sore and my head is bumping to my heartbeat. But, it’s raining this wonderful pitter patter, and I’m sitting in bed writing. Bundled up to my chin with my arms out the sides of my comforter poncho. (No, I will not be including a photo.) And I’m not feeling guilty that the dishes aren’t done or that dinner won’t be made. It’s not bothering me in the slightest that the dryer just beeped, and I’m not going to fold anything for days. The common cold: a great excuse to do nothing but write.