It started last week when Hazel got a high fever. Soon, our whole family was rushing down a phlegm-filled, sore-throated tube of communal suffering and exhaustion. We’re still in it a week later, though it seems now that we may survive.

Still, we had one week with Jack out of work, a few days where I had my extended family together for the first time in a year-and-a-half, and the always over-hyped expectations of jollity in the “holiday season”. And yet we have remained indoors and had to mostly avoid seeing my family for their benefit whilst using up Kleenex and drugstore syrups with abandon and wanting to punt-kick the kids’ new Furby into the middle of the street every time he shrieks or a fight erupts over which child claims him to be “mines”.

I just wish there was something new for me to watch on Netflix. My preferences and suggestions haven’t changed in a very long while, and I’m afraid I’m out of “Critically Acclaimed Visually-Striking Cerebral Movies”, “Foreign Ensemble Thrillers”, “Quirky Independent Comedies”, and “Gritty Dramas Featuring a Strong Female Lead.”

Sigh. At least I have my very own taxidermy white Indian peacock. I love another addition to our family that I don’t have to feed or clean up after.

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