Wednesday, February 01, 2006

Interlude: Between Sleep And Well 

There was a part of me that seems to have genuinely believed that I would never get sick again.

But here I am, just three weeks after quitting smoking, intellect alternately fighting and ignoring what seems to be a relatively functional but seriously affective cold.

Same swollen back keeping me up all night. Same swollen glands pushing at the swallow. The tickle at the back of the throat. The dry cough. And oh, the tired.

I crashed at nine last night, tossed and turned in pain, felt zombified when I awoke this morning in the dark. Made it through the day but lost control of every single one of my classes, a high risk and almost irreversable loss this early in the term. Couchnapped when I got home; up for a speechless supper with head on the table; fell asleep with Willow throughout our bedtime routine of three stories, a soft massage, a hundred counted sheep.

It's like I've got five good hours in me now, instead of the usual fourteen, and I need all eight for school.

I miss having my full self for my family.

I miss trusting my full mind at my disposal.

I miss cigarettes, damnit.

But not so much as yesterday.

And I suppose the sick symptoms were worse when exacerbated by periodic trips to the cold outerworld. And the athsmatic lung ache. And the rawness of the smokefilled maw.

So I got that going for me.

posted by boyhowdy | 8:33 PM |

---

Comments:
Post a Comment