Reeses’ peanut butter cups are the perfect candy. They hover right on the edge of being too sweet for their own good, like certain dark chocolate confections in a Whitman’s sampler or the like, but remain safely within that realm of sweets that can be enjoyed in quantity without an iron stomach. Might just be due to the fact that I’ve been blessed with a high tolerance for elevated levels of candy… I dunno.
I’m still convalescing, slowly decongesting. I was an absolute basket case on Sunday, which unfortunately coincided with our excursion to see Emma’s (Erin’s sister) musical. Needless to say, I was a lump all day, introverted and cranky. I believe I apologized to the appropriate parties before we left, but I was in such a phlegm-laden haze that I could have been talking to a houseplant and not thought anything of it. Zinc, Vitamin C, and a substantial amount of mothering are slowly pulling me back to reality.
Erin and I are going to Philadelphia on Saturday morning with the IV group. I’m still not sure how I feel about that. I suppose the emotional distance is a good thing, since it gives me a chance to focus on the affairs at hand. It’s going to pull me so far out of my comfort zone. I’m looking forward to it in that respect in the same sense that an athlete might look forward to the pain he will experience during a race. He pours his all into the race, but is filled up greater than his former capacity at the end with accolades and the knowledge that he did his best, not to mention the physical benefits. In any case, I’ll have stories to tell.