You know that moaning sound Harry makes in that one scene in When Harry Met Sally? I’ve been making that sound all day.

I worked from home today.  And I’m going to work from home again tomorrow.  Breathing sucks.  (You’re welcome.)  Well, it does, no matter how you look at it, sick or not.  You can’t run from the truth.  I have had a fuzzy head all day.  John had hopes that really loud music might vibrate all the crud out of my head last night, but it didn’t work.  It was cool, though.  We went to see Eric Johnson play in Alexandria.  We weren’t more than 40 feet away, and I picked the right side to sit on – he was angled towards us most of the night.  Crucial, in his case, ’cause you have to watch his hands fly.

Sorry – no brain, loud music in the basement (the band is rehearsing), and I want some soup.  Wonton soup.  (I had egg drop last night – no, two nights ago.  Love that stuff.)  I lost my train of thought, realized I have nothing left to say about the Eric Johnson concert, and then stared at the screen until it went out of focus.

Oh, you know what’s really totally not cool?  Wearing cologne to the gym.  It’s so unnecessary.  Yesterday, I was on one of the machines, and the guy on my right smelled like he had bathed in the stuff.  It was very irritating to my already irritated nose.  He moved on after 10 minutes or so, but the scent didn’t.  Dude.  It’s okay if you don’t smell like roses.  You’re at the gym.  You’re getting sweaty.  And nobody cares.

And there goes my brain again.  Lost for another 20 minutes.  I need soup.


  1. mama mama

    I just ordered some won ton soup to be sent to your house. (No, not really because it’s too late, but wouldn’t that be cool?)

  2. Zannah

    Aw, thanks, Mom. I didn’t end up eating last night – too late. So I’m having my wonton soup tonight. I’ll pretend you sent it.

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