Monday, November 29, 2010

au lit

I never get sick. Perhaps it isn't wise for me to begin a post using absolutes; I just want to emphasize the idea that I very rarely find myself in a state of illness. I mean, the last time I became stay-in-bed sick was over a year ago and the overtake of my immune system was a tyrantly greasy meal of roasted deer, cream and cheese gratin, and one too many forced servings of ice cream topped with canned fruit - I would not recommend eating that combination in one seating, by the way. But even that lasted only one painful day. Otherwise, I am as healthy as a horse (although I am not educated on the hardy immune systems of horses I would believe that we have that trite saying for a logical reason).

Until today. I have a nasty, nasty cold which has climaxed over these past few days into today's convalescence (I am typing this from the depths of my bed). Also, my condition was complicated after I decided to tackle my father and mother in their bed after family prayer and ended up twisting a "something" (notice my impressive medical terminology here) in my lower back. I suppose that's what I get for such irreverent behavior on the Sabbath. No big deal though. I don't need to bend over, sit down or make any nonsensical body movement like that.

I was thrilled for today's prospect last night. I even made a list of "goals" to accomplish. But, here I am in bed feeling, as I look out into the dying autumn world outside my window, that the 29th day of November will come and go in no special fashion. Though, being confined to a vertical position with a weight of blankets allows certain pleasures. First, I don't have to get dressed for the day. Second, I get to catch up on reading "Walden" and laugh at the coincidence of Thoreau's writing and my current state snuggled within what he pens as a "shelter within a shelter" that has "robbed the nests and breasts of birds to prepare." It also allows pondering and nap-taking. I dreamt today that I was back in New Caledonia - my older sister was my mission companion and we were trying to find the Berlingo while escaping a crazy man who was hunting us down (for reasons now forgotten). We came across other missionaries in a cave and were about to find the silly French vehicule when...I woke up, and I couldn't find my dream again when I tried to go back to sleep.

After reading this post you probably find yourself (as I do) more convinced of this apt musing of Thoreau's: "The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation."

Quietly and desperately yours,
Laurel

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