Yesterday’s creative void turned into a series of naps, punctuated by coughing, nasal decongesting, and other such symptoms of a cold. After said naps, I felt somewhat better. This afternoon, after another night’s and morning’s sleep, I feel considerably worse. I am completely stopped up and my throat is red and raw, presumably from attempts to snore through my BiPAP mask. I had hoped sleep would improve my symptoms. Such are the risks of advancing age. I will pretend to write, anyway.


Christmas Day this year came and went without much fanfare. Ditto, the day after Christmas. The experience was pretty much as it always has been. I’ve had considerable experience with Christmas; years and years, so I have the routine down pat. The variations caused by the presence or absence of specific people become routine, too; the key to easing the adjustment is to enter into the season without expectations. Just go with the flow. Easier said than done, I realize, setting an objective is a good first start.


I awoke early this morning, but I could not maintain wakefulness. First, I sat on the couch, drifting off. Next, I pulled a blanket over my chilly body and attempted to relax on the long white sofa. No luck there, either. So I went back to bed, where I slept several more hours. Mi novia supplied me with blankets and water and Motrin and DayQuil and various other drugs intended to erase or, at least, minimize the symptoms of colds. I remain thoroughly stopped up. My chest is clogged. I attempt to clear my sinuses, but have no luck. I suppose I’ll just have to suffer through this modestly mild misery.

My brain continues to feel fuzzy and uncooperative. I feel fuzzy and uncooperative all around. I give up on writing a blog. There’s no point in trying to write when one’s head aches and one’s attitude is surly and unpleasant. And so I will sit at my desk in this empty house (mi novia is out playing card games with friends) and howl, summoning creatures who might understand my mood and who might have certain ways to make me feel human again.


About John Swinburn

"Love not what you are but what you may become."― Miguel de Cervantes
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One Response to Shunning

  1. Druxha says:

    Wishing you a speedy recovery, John.

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