My ambitious plans for the weekend didn't quite workout. I came down with yet another cold, which has really knocked me out. On Friday night, I decided that spending two hours in a smoke-filled bar and getting home after 2 wasn't such a good idea, even though I love trivia. On Saturday evening, I was supposed to join Justin's noraebang (karaoke) party, but we missed connections. I was downtown anyway to buy tickets for Sunday's ballgame; the forecast was for partly cloudy skies.
When I woke up Sunday morning, the forecast had changed to p.m. thunderstorms, and sure enough, when Joanna and I met, it was coming up a storm. I still felt like crap and sitting in the rain to watch the game didn't seem the best idea, so we gave up on it and settled for dinner. However, by the time we'd finished eating, the rain had passed and we made it to the ballpark ten minutes before the first pitch, and the weather was calm and lovely. We ended up with dinner, a ballgame, a bookstore visit, and ice cream, so the weekend turned out fine after all, even though I was about as lively as a Wal-Mart washcloth soaked in warm skim milk.
Then I came home and slept for ten hours. I'm still beat enough that I can't think of anything terribly interesting to say, but I'm beginning to think I may live.
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