"It takes a worried man...to sing a worried song. It takes a worried man, to sing a worried, worried song...I'm worried now. But I won't be worried long." This was playing in the background of my dream while I lay in bed with Sharon.
We were playfully teasing one another and having a make-up make out session. It was in our little house in Paradise. The bed was familiar and the door to the bedroom was closed.
There was a sense of an imminent breakfast or lunch soon to interrupt our session, or things would have progressed to other familiar places. Her parents or mine were there fiddling about in the kitchen. But we were both naked and enjoying ourselves quite a bit, and the sense of it was that we were going to go for it.
I went to sleep with a sore throat and had to wake up in the middle of the night and suck on a zinc tablet. It seemed to work. I had a sudden onset of sore throat and fever after eating a huge serving of avocado hummus.
I went from pigging out, talking on the phone to my friend Vivianne, to calling my mom and taking photos of the back of my throat. It looked like my tonsils, or what's left of them after a tonsillectomy, were inflamed and red. Worrisome in a time of COVID, to be sure. But I feel somewhat better today, or at least not worse. So, hi dee ho.
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I've changed my comments settings to allow for anyone to comment. All comments are welcome, even spineless potshots from anonymous posters. Please, by all means, give me the tongue lashing I so richly deserve. I promise not to hunt you down and melt your keyboard with my plasma cannon. I won't, however, promise not to pout and make that face you can't stand.