Sick Abed

I love and hate it when I am sick.

Hate it because physically, I am miserable, and emotionally, I feel so goshdarned guilty for not being at work, where I belong.

Love it because it's a damned near irreproachable reason to do nothing.

Yesterday, I felt just plain punk. Freezing cold, all day, and several times, I felt like I was going to pass out. Went home at the usual time, got eight hours of sleep, and woke up exhausted.

With a sore throat.

Yeah, nothing good can come of this. But I showered, dressed, took my sorry self into work, and made it all of one hour before I drove home to my bed, my cats, and my zicam.

So now I lie, here in bed, feeling very miserable and wondering what the heck is wrong with me. It's not the usual m.o. for my notorious head-colds-turned-sinus-infections-or-bronchitis-or-pneumonia. We'll have to see if I get better or worse.
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In other news, it's August.

Thank the frigging lord.

Don't get my wrong--here in the deserts of the Armpit Empire, July and August are the worst months. And sometimes, September can be nasty, too.

But it's August, and it means that we're on the downward slope. We're one month closer to my favorite time of the year. If I lived in a place where there were actual seasons, and a genuine rhythm to life, I would rejoice, weep with joy, and begin to listen with a tiny bit of sorrow as the summer dies away and gives in to the gentle death that autumn brings. If I lived in such a place, I would perhaps feel more connected with this life that seems to be speeding past without my full attention.

But then again, maybe I wouldn't.

Anyway, I don't live in a place where there are real seasons, and let's face it, most of my life has been this way. Familiarity might not be the most joyful option, but it is the most realistic...and at least it breeds a certain grim, passive will to get through it.

And since I don't live in a place with seasons, I simply have to smile as we get through the second half of the awful time of year, and thank god that we're one day closer to a little less misery. And mark the days until I can celebrate Fake Autumn and Imaginary Winter.

As Himself says, "we do have seasons: the leaves are on the trees, the leaves are off the trees."

Heh. But what he fails to mention is that here in the deserts of SoCal, we have very few trees, and even less that have the kind of leaves that change color.

But one day, in a couple of months, it's only going to get up to 85 degrees. And when the sun goes down, a breeze will come up and it will actually be a cool breeze, and everything, from us to the cats to the cactus, will be slightly revived and energized.

And if we're really lucky, this might happen before Halloween.

Thank god it's August.