I’m starving and stark raving, but nothing, nothing, will get me out of bed to make myself breakfast. I woke up with a head that felt pulled apart by horses. I made coffee. I puked up the coffee and drank some more. Like every morning, I laid in bed and looked at the Internet and re-evaluated my life.
I’ve been sick all week. Here are the places my illness has been travelling.
Monday: A tickling in my throat and persistent coughing.
Tuesday: The throat but more so, and like bubbles travelling throughout the rest of my body. A terrible ache, fever, fatigue. I had to go to work and write all my articles and event listings anyway. I felt proud of myself, and also tired.
Wednesday: A little better but still bad. It’s all in my nose and sinuses and I’m still very tired. Dumb and high in the head but not in a fun way. I took the day off.
Thursday: The nose knows. The neti pot fails to irrigate my sinus cavities.
Friday: The illness has become existential. It’s just a minor cold, nothing more, but I’m still so tired, and I have this weird strung out feeling like I took ecstasy yesterday and I’m clad in that hung over cloak I used to wear a lot. I wanted to go out and see my friends but I just couldn’t. I rewatched the heartbreaking, wonderful, poetic and tragically true DFW interview with Charlie Rose. I’m rereading The Catcher in the Rye. I drank a juicebox for grownups with three glasses of red wine inside and went to bed.
Saturday: Coffee colored vomit, but that’s the drinking. It’s still just the slight cold in my nose. Really, I’m all better.
There’s no reason to be so down; things are going really well for me. Got an email from the MacDowell Colony and they gave me a fellowship to go stay there and work on my novel this fall. I could go for up to 8 weeks but my bosses and I compromised on 4. I may live to regret that but a month of writing summer camp still sounds like a great time. I’m really, really happy and excited. I allowed myself to want this, a lot, and this time, I didn’t get hurt.
My mom loves me and is always proud of me and on my side. After I told her, she sent me this text message. It’s so charming I want to have it framed: OMG. James Baldwin wrote Giovanni’s Room at the MacDowell Colony.
Okay. I might be willing to make myself breakfast at this time, but something tasteless and Soviet, because I can’t smell anything and I’m still not interested in fun. It feels good to write and I thank you as always for reading.