head and chest cold

A head and chest cold. I'm a man stuffed with straw today. A scarecrow. A day I flippity flopped my way through.

One image from the day:

a wee guy - 3 years old - covered head to toe in white flour comes into the room where I've got a guitar. He barges through the other children straight for his shot, only to be reminded of the etiquette of turn taking. He gets livid. He starts jumping up and down shouting "My guitar!!" The fine white powder coating him suddenly explodes off his dark skin, dust phantoms exclaiming into the air. Hazes of fine white anger, like rice off a beaten drum. A cartoon of consternation. Fine described outlines of outrage. He stomps and he stomps and the powder keeps agitating into the air.
Beside him is a girl strumming the guitar. She says,
I don't like wild beasts, I just like Scooby-doo.

What does it all mean? My head is so thick today, I can't fathom it. If only. If I only had a brain.