It was a bug.
Possibly an extraterrestrial bug.
It's now late May, and guess what! I'm still coughing. It's not a dainty little lady-cough, either. It's the kind of cough that people develop after a lifetime of smoking 120 cigarettes a day. The kind of cough that you expect to end by seeing a pair of lungs flying through the room and splattering against the wall with a wet thud. That kind of cough.
I've spent months running back and forth between our house and the doctor's office, where I've been bled and poked and prodded. The closest I've gotten to an answer, is that although my allergy tests were all negative, it might be an allergy, after all.
Thus started the process of figuring out what the frick I may or may not be allergic to. The upstairs is carpeted, so in order to test whether I'm allergic to the carpet, we've camped out in the living room for the past couple of nights. It started off being simple enough. We only brought the most necessary things down from the bedroom. My earplugs, some battery-chargers, my book.
On day two, we dragged the great, big widescreen TV in here and plumped it down in front of the sofabed. It usually lives quite happily in the dining room. And so on and so forth. For the past few days it's been raining cats and dogs outside, but there's a rumor going around that the sun might peek back out in the next few days. I'm starting to worry that by the time that happens, we will have built ourselves the ultimate cave and will not even notice.
Did you know that back in the middle ages they built their roofs out of straw and such? You did? My, you are clever. But did you know that bugs and things would live in the straw and when it rained, they would fall down you would basically be sprinkled with creepy crawlies? And that's where the phrase "it's raining cats and dogs" comes from. It's also where canopy beds come from. See, now you've learned something today.