In some fonts, indistinguishable from the sacred III-rd fate.
A throat itching with unease. Lips, dried and chapped. Thin flakes falling off the nose’s skin. And only the coldest flame, fighting hard to keep the warmth out. Attempts to douse its wicked blaze with healthy food and physical rest have little effect. It continues eating away at resources better put to use elsewhere.
As a work-from-home-er this isn’t as heavy of an impact as it might be for folks who need to show up to a location rather than roll out of bed and crawl into a nearby chair. Still, the mind is foggy and stumbles over smaller hurdles than usual. It gets there, just needs its bittersweet time.
Maybe tomorrow will be better.