My quick wit jotted this down for later:
I think I’ll get dressed so she doesn’t
think I’m dying when she gets home.
Then I thought, maybe I better lighten
it up a bit: I think I’ll get dressed so she
thinks I look better than I feel when she
gets home. No still not right. I’ll think
on it. The fact is we both got hit with a
weird virus some days ago. Weak as heck!
(I always wanted to say that. Have no
idea what it means. Heck? Okay, maybe
it is a takeoff on “Weak as hell.” But what
does that mean? Hell is weak? Hell isn’t?
Wrong. You can bet the next sunrise that
if there is a heaven, there is a hell.
Sadly, a bunch of folks say otherwise.
And we have the free poetic will to write
so. Turns out this virus is a great diet.
But I wouldn’t recommend it. I didn’t eat
for three days; drank hot tea and ate plain
toast for two. Slurped plain ramen last
night. Still alive today. Still can’t look at
a vitamin straight on. Marathon sleeps
don’t help me write or proof my book.
I’m slugging through it today a bit. She
made coffee but I couldn’t do it! She went
to work like nothing happened while I’m
dying here! (Do men handle illness worse
than women do?) You don’t have to answer
that. Rhetorical, sort of, for pure poetic
effect, of course. This will have to do:
I think I’ll get dressed so she thinks I feel
better than I look when she gets home.
(It’s the tea not quick wit. There I said it
before you did. Do I dare try coffee?)