Thank god I've got some Buffy tonight

I am sick. Feverish, thick, tired, sweaty, oozing as if my relationship depended upon it. I have slept or dozed most of the day away. I want homemade chicken noodle soup. I want *my* homemade chicken noodle soup, warm, slightly buttery with hints of lemon and ginger, a tiny kick of red pepper, and chunks of softened celery. It is exactly what the doctor (imaginary, for those of us sans insurance) ordered.

In happier, too-good-to-be-true news, my sassy Israeli supervisor bought every one in the office boquets of lilies and little purple daisies. My bouguet sits on top of the piano scenting the living room with delight.