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Saturday, Jan. 31, 2004 / 5:42 p.m. ~Whoo, Yeah, Sickly~ Someone downstairs just started singing. And just as suddenly stopped. I have been online since shortly after getting out of bed, after sleeping in said bed for some 15 or more hours. All along, all the while, sitting here, even getting up to toast bread for egg salad sandwich, eating said sandwich, and making coffee, and rinsing cup, and writing in paper journal, and feeding bored and hungry cats, and chatting on AIM so very briefly, and heating water for delicious vanilla red tea, and drinking said tea... I've been planning/hoping to leave, trying to imagine getting dressed, after showering, getting in my car, and driving 'to town' to see the movie I've been so anxiously waiting to see. But I lose my breath just writing all of that. I got up to feed those same bored and hungry cats a short while ago, and lost same breath. I am short of it, I am weak (which reminds me of a Me'shell Ndegeocello song... "I am weak, I go astray"), but I am, I am weak, I am fighting it, whatever it is. I'm doing an amazing job as well. I feel I'm winning, and not that it is always important that I do in fact win, but this, this thing, this viral thing, this wrong colored blood cell invasion thing going on in my body, this battle, the oldest in the history of battles, this good versus evil, infection versus healthy countenance, it's going on and I am fighting. Or, rather, I sit back and let them duke it out. Fight over me, you both want me, you, the good, and you, the evil, you both want to take your 'rightful' place, lodge yourselves firmly in my anatomy, and I feel I cannot exert msyelf any more than is required to sit here and type on this keyboard, or get up for yet another cup of this tea, for I would enjoy nothing more than constantly holding a perfectly hot, but not too hot, cup of it all day, sipping from it at will, inhaling its vanillaness. The singing... LOUD, then soft. It's a man. Does she live with him? Downstairs, I thought she lived alone. But sometimes I hear them arguing. And now he is singing. He's in the other room now. Stopped. No, wait, there it is again. I like it. I'd rather hear him singing than her yelling at him like a shrew. My neck hurts. I'm thinking of skipping the movie, not getting in the car, not showering, not getting dressed, lying back down, falling asleep to more movies, like last night's "Adaptation", and it looked so good - I loved the, "How did I get here?" evolution montage. Fantastic. It looks to be a very neurotically creative film, and I have yet to see it. Thing about lying in bed to watch movies, the falling asleep factor. My nose. I feel hours away from being totally congested, from having that 'hed code' thing. Don't let me succumb, please. I downed two more grams of C, I took the last of my echinacea, I need more. I told the vitamin lady at the Farmer's Market/Whole Foods, the other day, when?, the other day, who knows, that Wal Mart has the echinacea capsules for $4 something, and she just gave me that famous retail worker (I know, I used to BE her), "So go shop THERE, mother fucker!" look. I felt bad, but hey, I'm right, and why should I pay her $12 or even $21, egad!, when I can go to the bad store, the must boycott them store, and pay so much less??? I went nowhere for purchase though, and now I am out. Fresh out. I want to lie down. I lied about my throat, it still hurts, I'm simply pretending it does not. Feed a cold, starve a fever, I should eat more, I should eat everything I have, then get in bed, fall asleep to movies I've been wanting to see. It's times like this, when I feel so ooky, that I do wish there were (was?) a person around to sort of offer to take care of me. Yes, would you? Get me some soup? Aw, you don't have to, but you will? Well, okay then. I will NEVER, hear me, NEVER forget when I was dating one of the Steves, and he read my Stephen King book to me because it was too fucking big and heavy and I was feverish and weak and couldn't hold it up in bed. It was Needful Things, and he knew nothing of it, the story, the plot, but he read it to me, not all, of course, but he did. And he came over with a bag of remedies, the Nyquil cherry flavor, and cough drops and things, and he held my huge hardcover and sat up in bed next to me and read until I fell asleep. I was so in love with him. I miss being in love. Being in love is nice, after all, isn't it? Doesn't it feel good? Yeah, can you tell I'm sort of logy and feverish right now? I can. I still want, have want, in fact, after days of trying to steel myself again, after last weekend's little emotional breakdown, now I want again. I'm not going out, the movie I want to see just opened yesterday and will no doubt be showing a good long while. Word of mouth will propel the news of its extra special goodness and people will travel from miles around just to see it, at the one theatre which shows it, daily. It will wait. My body needs rest, care, food, attention. I should give it that. It deserves that from me. I've been neglecting it lately, it's been all about my mind, my emotions, and my spirit, but my body has been lacking in sustenance, the basics. I'll leave the computer on, I like to do that, people can call and leave messages on the CallWave Internet Answering Machine if they choose, or they can send well wishes via email, and I can retrieve them at will. Like last night, I can get up from sleep and walk weakly and lazily in here to check. Salon.com man called today. We should get together, I liked him, we can be buddies, nothing more, I don't feel it, but we should go out, I feel this. I am sick though, not tonight. Um, I think that's enough sickly rambling for now. Must rest, let the influx of fighting agents do their bidding in my bloodstream. Singing again... He's happy, I think. Cost of the War in Iraq
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