All Good Things Must Come To An End

Life is good.

And just like that, dear readers, I’m back in Guelph. The cottage weekend away with the Dixon and Darlington clans has come to an end.

Boo.

The weekend was fantastic. As per usual there was an endless supply of excellent food, tasty beverages, boating, lounging on the dock, lounging in the water, playing games, chatting, and laughter. So much so that I don’t think I’m going to need to eat for a week, my sides hurt, and I’m pretty sure I’ve developed dock-sores1.

It was exactly what I needed.

Sadly, I’ve brought an unwelcome houseguest home with me. Specifically, some sort of evil demon that has taken residence in my chest and muscles apparently. I’ve been told that I have a bit of a raspy phone-sex voice thing going on. I’m also aching far too much and in far too many places, so I’m feeling far older than my approximately 36.98 years should.

Given my current state, I’ve decided to crawl into bed, wrap myself in a blanket (with Elliot of course), and try to sweat out this demon.

I have no time for illness for there’s vacation still to be vacationed!


1 Where dock-sores are similar to bed-sores but caused from endless hours of lounging on a dock.

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