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I am back from vacation. My husband is upstairs, probably sleeping again. He managed to get the worst cold possible while we were out. Of course, it never helps that he refuses to take anything to feel better (he doesn't like to "pop pills"). I have seriously velcro cats and I don't have to go to work until Wednesday. This, at least, is a very good thing. We managed some good relaxing and thinking time while resting from graveyard tours and Mardi Gras parades. I even managed to finish American Gods by Neil Gaiman and Sphere by Michael Crichton; the former was an excellent book, very compelling, the latter was entertaining but not good for being trapped on a plane.