I stayed home from work yesterday with this cold (and I still have the sneeze, which is something like an enormous balloon inflating and deflating again, but compressed to a second). So on the one hand: nothing much to talk about from the outpost of relative isolation. For someone who's always been pretty sociable, I could get used to life as a hermit.
The funny thing about not going to work is that I dreamed about work. My unconcious says: you're not getting away that easily! The last thing I remember is looking for a stash of specially designed paper products that we use, and as I was retrieving them from a shelf, the song "Sometimes When We Touch" came on the radio, and my coworkers and I joined in mockery.
But Dan Hill gets the last laugh. I woke up with the song still in my head.
Earlier in the dream, a childhood friend, someone I haven't talked to in -- twenty years? -- asked me to help her track down a video. Of course, this is something that could actually happen...