I Feel Less Than Perfect

Headache. Chills. Fever, perhaps. Aching muscles and joints. Extremely tired. Whatever it is, this cluster of symptoms is terribly uncomfortable. I napped yesterday from around noon to nearly six, I think. And then I got in bed shortly after six and stayed there, except for a couple of trips to the bathroom, until around three. Up for half an hour, then back to bed, but not to sleep, until five-thirty. The aches—some of them—may be attributable to all that time in bed, but the rest of the symptoms must be caused by something else. Acetaminophen and allergy pills have had no appreciable impact on how I feel. My symptoms are very different from mi novia’s symptoms and they started long after hers began to abate slightly, so we are suffering from different ailments. Some of her symptoms have improved, but others stubbornly continue. Her sore throat seems to have gotten significantly better, but she continues to cough and her sinuses are giving her all manner of grief. If asked how I feel, I might respond by saying I feel like hammered puppy poo (as if I knew how that might feel). Rotten, in other words. Ideally, the Village’s restaurants—at least some of them—would have prepacked meals available for delivery. There’s plenty of food in the refrigerator and freezer, but the energy required to prepare it has slipped away into the nearby forest. But it takes almost as much energy to eat a simple meal as it does to prepare it, so my complaint just represents whining. I bought a watermelon and a cantaloupe a few days ago, which sounds like a marvelous breakfast; slice them and carve out a few chunks and, voilà, a meal appears. That’s far easier than having to dress to be presentable to the delivery person. That notwithstanding, some day I hope the Village has multiple meal delivery options. There was a time when I might have considered starting such a business. No more.

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Good news seems sparse, weak, and flimsy in comparison to unpleasant news. Looking for good news is rather pointless in the face of an intentional government shutdown, courtesy of a group of right-wing members of the House of Representatives. And good news is overshadowed by the floods in and around New York City, the healthcare strike, the auto workers strike, the existence of a man named Donald Trump, and the Mississippi River’s prospects for being fed enough water to keep the waterway vibrant and operational.

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I saw a post on Facebook this morning that gripped my imagination in ways that few post do. It was posted by a group labeled English Literature. It included a quotation from Maya Angelou’s book, Wouldn’t Take Nothing for My Journey Now and an image of an Andrew Wyeth painting.

Every person needs to take one day away. A day in which one consciously separates the past from the future. Jobs, family, employers, and friends can exist one day without any one of us, and if our egos permit us to confess, they could exist eternally in our absence. Each person deserves a day away in which no problems are confronted, no solutions searched for. Each of us needs to withdraw from the cares which will not withdraw from us.

~ Maya Angelou ~

And now I will continue dealing with my discomfort.