I actually got some solid blocks of sleep last night. First in a long time, and it felt good. I also have started a very productive cough. It eases my lungs to rid themselves of some of this junk, but I've done something to the muscles on my right side, just under the rib cage. They were already pretty badly stretch because of the liver and splenic hypertrophy, and I don't think they were up to taking up the additional burden of coughing. I'll let my doctor sort it out tomorrow.

Meanwhile, I had time to identify a series of new wheezes, associated with productive coughs. The "chick wheeze" comes first: eep eep eep eep. Then it transmogrifies (thank-you, Calvin and Hobbes, for introducing that wonderful word to the English language) into the "goose wheeze": oooonk oooonk oooonk. In its final form, the "duck-call wheeze", things are just about ready to be hacked up: aaaack gurgle aaaack gurgle aaaack gurgle. Actually, I suppose I should have called that the "Bill the Cat Wheeze", except then I couldn't have used that great line from "Surrey with the Fringe on Top" for my Entry Title.

The Socialist has hit rock-bottom boredom. Let's face it, I'm not exactly convivial companionship at the moment. He's off looking for adventure now, though he's not sure what he wants to do. Me, I know exactly what I want to do. Take my pills, drag my butt downstairs and see if anything's on the tube that I can fall asleep to.