Forty-six days ago: I put in an order for some imps. The novelty of rushing home after work each day to find nothing is wearing thin.

Thirty-nine days ago: I began this temp gig, a new diet (way of eating, not way of starving) and The Great Austerity Program of 2005. My assignment has been extended for two more weeks because they have great love for me and my mad skillz, the cherry tomatoes, seedless green grapes and water have been helping my squishy waistline and my bank account is finally getting some colour in its cheeks. TGAP is only in effect until Labour Day (according to The Boy, who sets the rules insofar as household cash is concerned), so I'm patiently counting down to my Am@zon, L'Occitane and Merrell orders.

Fourteen days ago: I was sitting at my desk not bothering anyone when this odd sensation of hot stabbing knives hit me right in the throat. It didn't waste any time splitting in two, moving from throat to head and chest. My cotton head lasted about three days and actually saved me from having to do some filing grunt work since the ladies in the office knew my equalibrium was off. Huzzah! Let the 18-year-old work study peon do that shit, I say. However, possibly as karmic retribution, the chest/bronchitis/phlegm thing settled in for the duration and lingers to this day. I've tried various and sundry remedies, none of which have chased away the goo sad to say. What's interesting is that, not unlike hiccup cures, everyone seems to want to put in their two penneth.

Grain alcohol tops the list, interestingly. The Boy's mother heard my moose-calls last Sunday and as we were leaving she pulled me aside and thrust a pint jar of something dark into my bag.

"One shot glass of this will let you get some well-needed rest. If you must, you can dilute it with some hot water." Translation: if you're going to be a wuss about the whole thing I can't stop you.

Anyone who has been reading me from way back over at the journal knows she makes this heinous blackcurrent liquor concoction in her back room. Lots of gin, apparently. And boy-howdy, does that stuff pack a punch! I had to throw back the shot with my nose plugged, and it's a damn good thing I was already parked on the chesterfield since I was out like the proverbial light within in minutes. This stuff works better than NeoCitran!

Today I am only coughing sporadically, which is good since my throat cannot take much more trauma. Also, I've finally discerned the path this virus wants to take from my body. It seems to be looking for sun and surf, since it's decided to go south.

I don't think there's a liquor in the world that'll help me with that one.