SICK
There’s something wonderful about being sick, too sick to do anything but lie in bed. An abdication of responsibility, a giving over of oneself to the constraints of the body — something we don’t normally do, because it’s not often we push ourselves past the limits of our bodies. Now this damn cold’s got me struggling to stay up past midnight, I’m woozy and putting a thimbleful of whiskey in my tea feels like a teenage rebellion. Getting fully dressed — blazer and vest and a nice belt — was a coup. And leaving the house for pills and coffee this afternoon was my biggest adventure all week.
I’m watching The Year of Living Dangerously but I can’t possibly get all the way through it. It’s a movie set in the tropics and it runs at a tropical pace. I’m just a little over halfway through and Mel Gibson’s only just now gotten the girl. I’m too tired to stay up and watch this love affair pan out or fade or implode or whatever it’s going to do. I wish him and his girl the best of luck; I’m going to try mine with sleep, which hasn’t come easily in months. But see, that’s what’s so great about being sick now: I can sleep. My body is exhausted, my brain is foggy, and the medication blurs everything, including the little last bits of rain tapping on the windowsill and the cats mewling in the neighbor’s yard. Most nights my apartment feels like a vacuum, too silent and disconnected for comfort. Tonight I’ve got the drapes back and the lights off and I can feel the air outside drift in. All because of my condition, my silly cold. Taking my brain away from me for a while. Letting me rest.
It’s a pain in the ass, but right now it’s most welcome.
Head over to my blog and check it out!
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