At Least They're Committed

In her defense, she tried to wake me up. She hopped onto the bed and whimpered, her big brown eyes staring at me, and I, in typical fashion, waved her away. Evidently she was trying to tell me she didn’t feel so hot because she proceeded to produce pile upon pile of . . . well, let’s not go into that except to say it wasn’t fun to clean up at 3:37 a.m. and I ended up feeling hot and woozy and when I awoke this morning it hadn’t gone away. I took my temp: 99.8. For someone whose body temp typically hovers in the 96-range, that’s a little hot so I’m at home in one of those “I think I’m better” hazes where the colors seem really bright to the point of cartoonish and I feel slightly stoned despite having only had lemon water, ham and eggs, and a fun size packet of peanut M&Ms today.

Before crawling out of bed at 10 a.m., I finally got to finish “The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy” by Douglas Adams and the significance of that is I bought it about six weeks ago and it’s only 215 pages and the type is big and I should have been able to finish it in a weekend and I took it on vacation and still didn’t get a chance to so much as open the cover.

How shall I describe my life as of late between work, family, extended family and other work? I don’t know, but the word “dense” comes to mind and not the insult definition, but rather “thick,” unlike the muddy piles Mina left me this morning. But today, I am delightfully alone, I’m sick and not thick.