Cowboy Hazel

I'm officially declaring this old Freddy Fender song the theme song for my weekend. I got absolutely nothing accomplished. Instead, I woke up Saturday morning (actually, afternoon – I slept 14 hours) with an unbelievably sore throat and stuffy head. I managed to run 9 miles at a 6:55 pace, but it took a 110% effort and after that, I didn't really leave my chair. I watched two lousy movies (Righteous Kill and Away From Her), finished reading a Paul Auster novel (which was amazing, as all of his are), and just generally dozed in and out of consciousness in a NyQuil-induced stupor. I went to sleep early Saturday night and slept for another 12 hours before my cell phone started ringing Sunday morning. Unfortunately, I wasn't doing any better then. My whole body was still clobbered by this little flu bug or whatever it was. It was all I could do to force out 4 miles at a 7:30 pace. And, other than doing the absolute bare minimum amount of firefighting work emergencies, I again accomplished nothing. I watched both football games and got a sizable chunk of Thomas Pynchon's V read. That's it. And I got my recliner a little more worn in. I was supposed to go to my client's office today, but didn't make it. (I was able to at least get a half day done from here before my brain completely quit functioning, though.) Now, I'm off to drink more V8 juice and another early bedtime hoping that I can finally get rid of this nonsense.

In case you didn't get it, the moral of the story is Don't try to cheat your body out of the rest it requires or it will get even with you...