I don’t have a cold. It was, apparently, a false alarm. Whatever I’m allergic to that blooms/blows around in August is the kind of thing that makes my glands swell up and makes it hard to swallow. Then the next day it settles into my brain cavity and makes me sneeze.

I know, I know, get a job already.

In other non-news, I just tried peanut butter chocolate chip pancakes for the first time. It will be the last time too. It’s a concoction that’s entirely too sweet for me. In fact, I’m still kind of shuddering in horror even now, minutes after eating it.

And, in the most shocking revelation of the day, I might have to stop reading Jean Thompson’s Do Not Deny Me. I read the first few stories back in June and then got distracted by some other books. On Saturday night, I picked it up again because I missed reading short stories that weren’t for class. Saturday night I had a dream so awful that I can’t even put it into words. Sunday night, the same thing. Two nights of Thompson followed by two horrible nightmares.

I’m not sure what the connection is, because I love Jean Thompson, she’s near the top of the list right after Lorrie Moore and Mary Gaitskill. I figure I’ll give it one more night. The whole three strikes and all.