In Sickness and Crap Like That

Yesterday it was 74 degrees outside, a delightfully balmy, need-sunscreen kind of day.
Today -- the high has been 31 and the snow "fall" is horizontal.
I have not been feeling well for days now and I can assure you that it hasn't helped that flowers and trees are budding prettily, only to be crushed under drifts of snow, They are now rethinking the bloom to torture me with at a later date.
I have always considered my voice to sound mannish. I normally like to pretend it's more Demi Moore than Wilford Brimley, but this week I know I'm channeling Abe Vigoda. Not pretty.
A friend wants to call and chat today. Chat. With Abe Vigoda. And he's stubborn, not "listening" when I e-mail him that chatting today is a mistake, as it would inspire visions of transvestites on Lesbian Night. (That just came to me, I don't believe it to be a real entity, so no inquiry e-mails as to where this show may be seen, please.)
I don't like the phone anyway, though it's far better than texting, a much different and more vigorously argued topic than I care to handle today.  But speaking into a receiver while trying to keep breathing shallow so as to dissuade coughing fits is not a seemly thing to do today.
Long story short: I feel like crap. Please let me wallow in my self pity.
More soon.