The cold.

I have this annoying cough. It is a cross between a wayward goose and something else--but I can't quite describe it.

The one cool thing about this cough is that my voice is slightly lower, a little huskier--the kind of voice an actress from the 1940s would have. Once this cold has left my system for the third time this winter, I will miss that voice. I will not, however, miss this menacing cough.

I think that walking home this evening did nothing to help this cough. The wind reached into my chest and took the air out of my lungs. This cold was bitter, bitter, bitter.

I made it from the metro station to my apartment in Columbia Heights just barely. I felt like giving up at one point, but then I remembered about an appointment I had with a warm double bed and some pajamas.

It didn't matter to me that it was 6:30pm, it was time for me to retire for the night, do some writing and hope that someone else wasn't suffering with time difference tiredness to have a quick chat.