It reached 80º today and was undeniably, objectively, the nicest day of the year. I worked here, then there, and then came home and spent the afternoon sitting on the couch working on STUFF while drifting dog hair tickled across my feet. I felt stiffly bored and humorless, couched deep in my clutter, while outside the Objectively Beautiful Day squandered about, breezing through trees.
But tonight, I’ve got this feeling I’d forgotten or left somewhere a long time ago. I feel like the break-in to a satisfying sad song, like when the tempo surges. It’s such a small thing. All the windows and doors are open. I’ve swept and mopped away the poofs of dog hair. The lights are moody and low. I'm listening to old music, stuff that is seriously sad as fuck, but in a good way because these songs are all said and done. It’s the things that are unsaid and unfinished that cause me grief, but they aren’t here right now.
It’s my third night in a row retiring with a hot cup of thera-flu in a masquerade of lemon and honey. My only cold of the year hit me last week -- Wednesday night, 8:37pm to be precise. I actually felt the fetal pathogen implant in my sinuses. It gestated overnight as a single point of pain. Thursday, it spread through my face cavity, down my throat and finally exploded into my lungs and out the top of my head. Thursday night I shivered and sweated into the blankets. I stayed home Friday from my daughter's class field trip, to her very deep and teary disappointment. I slept until noon, then ached around, petting dogs and nudging my coffee cup, shifting in and out of being alive on pulse.
I’m slowly coming into focus again. Chemically induced narco-sleep is helping. Sunshine would probably help. Tomorrow I’ll try to find some.