16 Baha 166 B.E.
Soundtrack in my head: Cocteau Twins, “Eperdu”

If it's Sunday, it must be snow again. When I woke up this morning around 6:30 a.m., I saw the first tiny snow flakes falling down and within an hour or so, the landscape had turned from brown to white.  We are looking at three to seven inches before day's end.  Once again, I am sequestering myself in my bedroom, though now it's because I've come down with a nasty cold.

Seems appropriate somehow. I was taking great care to avoid catching colds because of sleep studies and because of a dear friend who visited last week. I remember writing in my journal that if I could only put off a cold until, say, the following week after my friend leaves, that would be fine. So what do I do but catch cold a week after my friend left—almost to the day. Be careful what you write.

This cold is a little worse that what I usually get. I usually don't get a fever, but I do with this cold. I wish I could say that I used my downtime productively yesterday, and I did get a few things done, but a lot of times I was too exhausted to do much of anything. I spent a lot of my day in bed, and I'm looking at possible the same thing today. I'm on my second box of tissues, and I swear I must be channeling Miles Davis using my nose—Miles in his more avante-garde days, that is.

I used to be involved with a spiritual path that believed that colds were “cleansings,” that is, a way for the body to rid itself of toxins. I've completely cut off contact with that group of people, but I still wonder if what they say about colds may be true.

In any case, I'll try—to the best of my ability—to enjoy this opportunity to slow down. As much as one can enjoy a cold, that is...