a diary of thought.
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www.poisonedpunchbowl.com |
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Sick, sick like I knew I would be after weeks upon weeks of rain and hardly a touch of sun. Another move across the country. Unpacking, lifting, thinking. These things take their toll. Swollen glands and a body that moves like a sandbag, only moving quickly when it drops into bed. So many days where I have felt unconscious, heavy, hit by New York like a truck. Tiny me crossing this little highway in my life and BOOM. My cat is sick too. He's on this pink liquid that smells like bubblegum. We pry open his little fanged mouth and inject him with his healing. Can you catch illness from your cat? We wonder. He is running around chasing his tail, feeling better. My fingers are exhausted from typing two paragraphs. I'd give anything for an ounce of energy. I want a burst of energy that sends me reeling around the village, gathering periodicals like produce, sucking in the scene, some second-hand smoke, some life. |
