Letters to Myself: I Hear Gladstone Now Advocates Home Rule For Ireland

So, I've been absent. Haven't posted here, haven't replied to much email, and in general have dropped off the face of the earth. So where have I been? Why, the 19th century, Lisa and I both. No, it's true. And to prove it, we brought back proof: we've both got consumption. We have these dramatic coughing fits that, when we cover our mouths with tissues, we expect to bring them away flecked with bloodspots. And then we turn to the papers and read about Queen Victoria's upcoming Golden Jubilee, with all the pageantry and splendour the Empire can produce. Huzzah! God save the Queen!

We've also hallucinated a bit.

In short, we are weak, coughing, snuffling, aching (both head and elsewhere), at times feverish, and generally our brains have turned to tapioca pudding.

On the bright side, we're improving a little. At least we're well enough that we can make it to the doctor (back to back appointments tomorrow morning). And Ian seems to be doing well. For all that he's been sick too, he's the healthiest of the three of us. At least we've been able to send him to daycare, where he's been watched by competent professionals who haven't been zombified. I wish he'd learn to walk and drive already; that way we could also send him to the store for juice.