Today is my birthday.  I’m thirty-eight today, and on the downward slide towards forty.

Growing up, school always started back on my birthday, and this year is no different.  I’ll be ringing in my thirty-eighth year with a long day of mind-molding, followed by a few after-school lessons.

I’m also sick, with the same mysterious respiratory malady that struck me last year.  I can tell that I am on the mend—at least somewhat—at the time of writing, and I hope to wake up today breathing free, but I’m thinking it’s going to be a long day of popping cough drops and chugging water.

^Since writing that earlier on the day on Monday, my fever worsened.  Here’s hoping it breaks overnight and I can get to work, but it’s possible yours portly will be sick on his birthday—and at home.  I hate missing work if I can’t help it, so for me to contemplate taking a day off is a huge deal.  An at-home test for The Virus came back negative, but I’m running a fever of 102.5-102.9 degrees Fahrenheit (Ponty, convert that into Celsius).

I was going to write a bit more about goals and aspirations for my thirty-eighth year, but I’m going to stop here.  It’s time for a hot shower and some Vick’s Vapor Rub.

—TPP