So, as usual, about once a year I seem to get a requisite illness, something to remind this vixen that she is not immune to the wrath of nature nor the misfortune of the gods. This one is definitely a new level, though, as I seem intent on coughing myself into oblivion, waking endlessly from near-suffocation and thus denying me the sleep I so desire, or, when neither of these, making my poor nose dump enough mucous that I feel like a vulpine version of Niagara Falls. I'm five days in and it seems like the end is not yet in sight. The only slight mercy is that it is not Covid.

To those with whom I chat and speak with often, pardon if I am absent, or when present lackluster, as I am not myself when like this. To those who bother to read these journals of mine, you have my love, care, hopes, and prayers to the gods that you do not have whatever I currently have get to you. Gods bless and keep you all, and O-Inari-sama watch over you all and your loved ones this season.

Always,
Mika