My campus is weathering the storm pretty well. We're a tough crowd. The dining hall, showing a rare sense of humor, is serving chicken soup, which is actually pretty good for a change. Classes go on, even though they are sparsely populated. Amie is coughing so hard that I'm surprised her entire respiratory system hasn't come loose. I'm actually impressed, since she's the mouse-sneeze type who never seems to have bodily functions in public. Rest assured, she does. Despite her racking coughs, she is still taking notes in that perfectly round indecipherable handwriting. I can't tell her letters apart. Class discussion is kind of strained, since pretty much everyone has a sore throat.
I'm technically in good enough shape to do the mountains of catch-up work I need to do, but I'm coddling myself for a bit longer. I don't want a relapse. By which I mean I am a lazy, lazy procrastinator, and blogging is far more fun than reading postmodern drivel. I've been keeping up with the news feeds all day. Vector finally put his money where his mouth is, and is taking over Velocity's job until they can find a long-term replacement. That means he's got a hell of a commute when there's an emergency back at headquarters, but the guy can go supersonic, so I don't feel too bad for him. I guess the rest of the Lightning League can pick up the slack while Vector's picking off the solar vampires in South Carolina. I really hope they can get hold of Warbird fast, though. Baron Dynamo (I forget his real name) gets out on parole pretty soon, and I'd rather have Vector closer to the West Coast, since Shining Citadel has turned into a frigging quarantined ivory tower. I know they can't afford to risk the planet-movers and star-smashers getting a sniffle in case there's an imminent threat of world destruction, but seriously, way to turn your back on us mere mortals.
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