In the Sickbed

My wife made sure I was squared away before she (gladly) left for work. The dog comes by for visits. I stare at the ceiling and wonder why "projectile vomiting" is not an Olympic event. This morning's experiment is called "toast" and that is being eaten very slowly lest it decide to rejoin the world. I read a few pages of a novel last night and then dropped it after concluding that I didn't like any of the characters. Went through the local section of the newspaper to see if any of my clients are mentioned and to check the obits.

I'll be moving slowly today. Bear with me.