Not much to report about yesterday. Sonya and I exchanged numerous e-mails, looking for the story. 1930s, not 1940s. The correspondence of a paternal aunt with a friend or former lover. At least, that's how it seems right now. I read back over "Houses Under the Sea," to be sure my head was in the space where Jacova Angevine waits.
I appear to have picked up a cold, most likely when we braved the hoardes of girl scouts for a day at Fernbank. It seemed that at least a third of them were sneezing and coughing, and in the IMAX theatre there was a particularly sick child directly behind us. Zinc swabs, hot tea, megadoses of Vitamin C, herbal lozenges, etc., but I still feel like ass. Most of yesterday is a blur of sore throat. And the insomnia persists.
Oh, and we have rain, so no walk today. Ah, well. I can still pace.