Rx means relax, dammit

You cannot hear it, but the sound here is my teeth, grinding.
It’s a sunny Saturday in Northern California – with temperatures expected to warm up to 75 degrees (24 degrees Celsius).
And I have the workings of a vicious cold bubbling in my chest.
It’s exactly where I intend to leave it, not full-blown, but (hopefully) skirting the full-on nasties of the common (fucking) Rhinovirus.
So, I’ve turned down two mountain bike rides, two hikes and one “hanging out drinking wine and watching the river” invite and one dinner invitation (which I think included a night at the local cinemaplex).
I’m percolating, and do not wish to share.
Complete lung-butter stuff.
But, like all colds, I feel like shit when I go to bed – and right when I get up.
Right now, I feel OK (as in slight runny nose, little cough, tired eyes).
I think I could ride. I think I could hike (seeing friends? Well, that would be just wrong, in my Typhoid Mary state).
But why tempt fate? Why be sick for a week, when I can just grit my teeth and wait it out?
Because I am a piss-poor patient (and in I am impatient). Colds are the worst.
I’m headed out to run two errands, where I will pick up some Airborne, some Zicam and (whoopee!) NyQuil for some evening entertainment
I will watch movies, order pay-per-view, read “Sophie’s World” in the sunshine of my front yard and generally take it easy.
Which is to say I will be completely bored in something like five hours.
A friend suggested Tom Ka Gai soup (all the while putting up her fingers in the sign of a cross to tell me that I should stay away today – love you, Jules, I know you peek from time to time) and I thought about a big bowl of Pho.
Good thing there’s Racha Noodle, my favorite Thai place, in the ‘Hood.