A head cold and a red scarf

I've been in bed all day with a head cold.
If you were wondering. If you really were
trying to picture me. Then imagine a queen
bed and a scarf around my neck that I promise
myself not to wear while sleeping, for who
wants to strangle and be found like that,
strangled in a red scarf given to me by a
woman who I once saw order a caesar salad
at eight in the morning after watching the
sun rise over Cape Spear? I guess there are
worse ways to go. I think I got the head cold
from the visiting author as the author
was visiting from England and those trans-
atlantic flights are rife with head colds.
But I'm taking my Cold Fx and it's working
and so decide to open up my trading account
and purchase 1000 shares of C. V. Technologies,
which makes Cold Fx. What the hell,
right? I gotta spend my CBC literary
prize on something. It's ginseng.
But it's ginseng from Calgary. I am glad
that people are buying a lot of underwear,
and also publishing stories in zines about
underwiring, and also that I might be
encouraging those very underwear activities.
Perhaps our minister of finance, instead of wearing
new shoes, should be snapping on a fresh
pair of Stanfields. I forgot to mention
that, when I went to my publisher's, she
showed me on the Big Computer, how many
hits this site gets. I thank all three million
and twelve of you. Okay I'm kidding.
The bronze pope was the one on Roncesvalles
that looks like he's sitting outside
a Polish bank just checking out the traffic.