November 29, 2015
Nothing restful
A photo like this suggests I’ve spent the day reading, which isn’t true. There was also all the time I spent staring at the ceiling, and when I slept from 1-4. The Long Secret is so good though. Yesterday I read The Westing Game. And things are progressing—yesterday I sat up in a chair for a few hours, but then I had to go and lie down. I’ve also started eating food, though less today than yesterday. Progress seems to be a trickly slow and very unsteady thing. So does my brain power. Basically I’ve had a fever for a week and when I close my eyes to sleep at night, my brain launches me into some bizarre narrative constructed of everything I’ve ever thought or seen, and there is nothing restful about it. It’s like playing a game whose rules are dictated by the whims of Harriet. Which is as close as I can come to putting these fever dreams into words.
“…some bizarre narrative constructed of everything I’ve ever thought or seen, and there is nothing restful about it.” What is it about dreams and fever? This is so true. I remember longing for a disease to allow me to spend a few days in bed, imagining bonbons and trashy magazines but every time I was sick enough to have to stay in bed, it was hallucinations and fever and damp bedding and headaches. Go figure…
But rest, drink lots of ginger tea, and you’ll feel more like the vibrant person you truly are in a few days.
Kerry, so sorry to hear this illness is dragging on so, and is so debilitating. The only good thing about getting sick is that when you get better, for awhile it is just so good to stand on two feet and eat a delicious piece of toast. Hope you get there really soon.