I feel terrible. I ache everywhere, my head is awful, my chest is itchy and congested, and this morning I was desperately wheezy and couldn’t draw a full breath without dissolving into a coughing fit. I laid down on the couch for a second after I put the kids down for their naps, and I crashed hard until a cat woke me up.
(If you are so sick that Toby lands on you with his twenty-three-ish pounds of bulk and you DON’T wake up, then what you are is technically known as deceased.)
I do my best writing when I feel like hell.
Part of it is that I feel like I shouldn’t be laying about, I should be overcoming something. All of the people in the world I admire have various things in common, but the one strong thing they all share is a powerful strong work ethic. I have a terrible work ethic, and it’s the only thing I actually hate about myself (I harbor mild resentment for my hair, and that’s about the end of things-i-dislike-about-myself). So for some reason, that kicks in when I’m sick and I start enduring, soldiering on, and working hard and with focus.
The other reason I work well when sick is, my brain is too slow and creaky and terrible to manage blazing around the internet like a hyperactive fruit fly, ricocheting off a dozen web-sites that I don’t need to visit, all of which will leave my brain an hour after i’ve been. there’s no space for that. there IS space for me to sit, hunched over the table, handwriting stories (or typing: some of what I’m working on right now is typed.)
Occasionally, I get this wonderful sick work ethic when I’m, well, SICK. Other times, it’s because I was kept up for most of a night and am drastically tired the next day. It’s all the same then, too. (“So why not just stay up late a lot?” one might ask. Because then I stop writing and just drool my way through the days.)
Anyway, I’ve got some Lapsang Souchong tea, some writing done, and it looks like myself, Renee, the kids, and some lovely friends will all be going to one of the Zoos down in the Twin Cities, on Monday.
It’s a free Zoo, that accepts donations. They enforce their “we would like a donation” policy by putting a big donation box RIGHT INSIDE the door leading into the place, and at each one, they park an old woman who instantly guilts you into putting money in the box. They are cleaning up.
I’ve been to this zoo three times in the past two years, and each time, they’re constructing some goddamn thing. what this means is, the animals are almost never outside. Instead, you get to see Plywood In Its Natural Habitat, a Bobcat Forklift As It Behaves In The Wild, and Humans On The Hunt for Bathrooms and Animals To Photograph.
That said, it’ll be fun with some friends. AND we get the Botantical Gardens, which are amazing, and gently nostalgic for me, in that they have a huge indoor tropical environment, chock-full of all the plants and some of the animals I grew up around, in the Carribbean. I have promised myself I shall not bore my friends senseless talking about Growing Up, because christ, who wants to hear that?
I’m going to refill this here empty teacup, and go do some work. or collapse.