Imbolc Valentine Moon
The viral merry-go-round goes round and round, round and round. Here some phlegm. There some chills. Here some fever. There some sore throat. Here a cough, there a cough. And, overall…yuck. I told Kate I didn’t remember ever being this sick. “Austria,” she said, “You were pretty sick in Austria.” True. In that case I had my new physician wife with me who had, in what I would come to know as her way, packed for this. Antibiotics, thermometer. Bed side manner. Don’t remember much of Vienna and I was sick to some extent when we hit Paris. OK. I’ll take Austria, but that was 1990. So, not for a long time.
Misery. Discomfort. Dis-ease. Feelin’ rotten. Down the rabbit hole. Indisposed. Feeble. Ill. All. Ready for them to go back, hide in somebody’s closet.
The second time in two days when I wrote this blog later in the day. I couldn’t brave the cold to go up to the loft.
Back from Edwin Smith, surgeon: