Prolonged Coughing & Procrastination

Here I sit, nearly a month after writing my last entry wondering what to write about.  Many thoughts have come into my mind tagged with ‘I should blog about that’ followed quickly by ‘What I have to say is not important.’  Really, in the scheme of things and life, going on chirping about current events, railing against idiot TV evangelists or whatnot it a waste of cyberspace and energy.

Is there something more productive I could do with the blog?  I don’t know.  Many bloggers are very creative.  I especially love reading Miss Tilney at Dove and Pomegranates.  Sadly my creative juices lean more towards cleaning out and organizing not writing.  Suggestions and ponderings are welcome.

In the meantime, I am happy to say that five days on an antibiotic the size of a horse pill, cough medicine with codeine, a cough suppressant (pill form), and inhaler my cough, which has been around for 14 or so days, has begun to subside.  I no longer sound like I am hacking up a lung every time I take a breath to say a word.  Though everyone has enjoyed my forced silence!  Is it possible to pull a rib muscle or strain the diaphragm with too much coughing?  At least that is better too.  Two nights straight of good sleep has helped too.

The snow seems to have subsided so I guess I shall don my winter-wear and fire up the snow thrower/blower (which is correct?).  Procrastination.must.stop.   Glad we didn’t get the 3 feet (or whatever) our nation’s capital got.  I wonder if Pat Robertson is going to have anything to say about the inordinate amount of snow Washington, D.C. has gotten this winter as being God’s punishment/wrath/whatever on the President and his liberal Dems?  Geesh.

At the suggestion of my spiritual father, I have begun to read St. Symeon the New Theologian’s Discourses.

Yesterday marked 3 months ago Mom fell asleep in the Lord.  It is hard to believe that much time has passed already.  February 12 she would have turned 76.  Memory eternal!

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11 thoughts on “Prolonged Coughing & Procrastination

  1. Memory eternal!
    Take care of your cough. Get well, and if you want, keep blogging. And I think we all go through this pause over “Why this?” about blogging. If you didn’t I’d think you’d probably be nuts… like me.

  2. I am sorry I missed reading and responding to your mum’s passing last year; I humbly offer my prayers and Memory Eternal!

    And it is always a joy and blessing to hear from you: on any and every topic. Hope and pray you are feeling better soon.

  3. I’m glad you are feeling better and I do hope you don’t stop blogging altogether. I’d miss your updates, no matter how small.

  4. Ah my dear Margaret, no need to apologize for Miss Tilney for I did not find her comment offensive in the least. She is, of course, correct…I am woefully negligent in my study of feline historical minutiae. Thus, why I frequent ‘her’ blog. It is just the education needed! :o)

    Would a sacrifice of a can of sardines appease Snowy, I wonder?

    Miss Tilney should write a letter to Mr….er cough…Rev. Robertson. He could use some additional education.

  5. I do apologise for Miss Tilney. She is a great reader and assumes that everyone is aware of the historical and felinological minutiae that she herself is.

    Memory Eternal to your mother! And if you could find some method of sending some of that clearing out and organising oomph in my direction I’d be very grateful and I in turn will send you some of whatever it is that enables me to sit at a screen writing nonsense for hours when my attics and garage are desperate for attention.

  6. I hope you are feeling better, my hugs to you! I say snow blower, but we also don’t live where one is warranted.

    May your mom’s Memory be Eternal.

  7. I have this minute finished remonstrating with Miss Darcy about her lack of historical knowledge only to come here and discover that you, Miss Philippa, have the same problem. It is well known, or it should be, that in October 1916, a large white cat appropriately known as Snowy to his humans, offered up a tin of sardines to the Inuit spirit, Irdlirvirisissong, whose habit it is normally to devour intestines, but on this occasion consented to provide Snowy and his descendents with perfect camoflague for 7000 generations. I am sure if Mr Robertson knew of this he would preach a sermon on it, taking for his text, “sprinkle me with hyssop and I shall be whiter than an extremely bad pagan cat.” He might also point out in his charitable fashion that any poor stray cats freezing in Washington tonight can thank Snowy for their predicament. I declare the man has less theological insight than Mr Elton.

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