When you are on the verge of being sick, but you aren't certifiably so with a fever, it's easy to dance with the burgeoning symptoms--and try to cajole them to get the hell out of here. Because I have asthma and chronic sinusitis and asthma, when a cold threatens to invade, I ignore the symptoms at first, then fight, and finally give up. I have not given up yet, but there's that damned tight cough that has brought body aches when it gets out of control and all the body's muscle tighten to face into the spasms. My throat feels like prickly velvet, my eyes are tight and dry, and my eye sockets and nose ache. Maybe just allergies, I hope; easier to battle. But usually boundlessly energetic Fran has given up, come home from work early, and finished a book in between sneezes and coughing. I also did a two-page self-bashing freewrite in my journal, but that was prior to actually recognizing that I might be a woman on the verge of being sick. Zicam, vitamin C bursts, and bed. So much for SoulCollage, blogwalking, and dreaming up more ideas I can't possibly implement within this lifetime. With any kind of luck, when the waterproofing consultant arrives at 8 a.m. tomorrow morning, my attitude of gratitude will have kicked in again. Even when I feel yucky, however, I'm usually still grateful--that I'm conscious enough to be aware of the yukky and that I have such a luscious bed and blankets to retreat to. And God bless the soul, and I believe animals do have have souls, of Barbaro, and the souls of his owners, trainers and doctors. He fought the valiant fight. We observe illness, injury, and death in others--humans and animals--and we learn how to do them more gracefully ourselves.