It's just the same one, regardless of topic:
I've got a whopper of a cold, and nothing matters.
Got my first night's sleep all week, but am still plugged up and sore.
Ultimately, nothing matters when I'm sick. Nothing, not even my children. What a terrible thing to think. But I sincerely tried to keep the girls away from me, because I didn't want to have to worry about them getting this awful cold.
Life still taste good, but it tastes less good.
For instance, it is much better to put tangy apricot jam on toast, rather than blueberry preserves, my usual favorite.
And Husband RJ brought me Red Velvet cake. I scarfed a piece and stopped. Better to save it for when I would appreciate the taste.
And while constantly changing and laundering clothes, pajamas and sheets doesn't ease the symptoms, it makes me feel less gross.
There aren't too many things grosser than Homo sapiens sapiens with an upper respiratory infection.
Back when I'm better.