It is a bathrobe day.
It started on the way to choir
practice last night.
With a full weekend singing
schedule ahead of me, it is
my turn for the creeping crud.
I feel like an old Alka-Seltzer
TV commercial; I’ll spare you
the grizzly details as I knock
around my apartment like a
puck in a bumper game. Or
is it just my head?
When you are sick nothing
tastes right so I immediately
started my three “T” sick day
regimen. Tea, toast, and two
Tylenol. That would be hot,
sweet, and milky tea. And
back to basics white bread
toast to the burnt side with
margarine and grape spread.
Meds only today; the idea of
taking supplements in any
form or size is revolting.
When you are sick some things
sound good; normal food does
not. Like tuna. I gag at the
thought. But instant mashed
potatoes sound wonderful for
lunch with a touch of margarine,
salt, and pepper. It is the pork
sausage that I’d normally have
with it, that is causing me to
pause and think. Not sure on that.
And more hot tea of course. The
idea of coffee this morning seemed
metallic to me. So more tea. Maybe
if I leave out the mustard, I could
handle a sausage. I don’t even
want to think about food although
lunch is near. For those of you who
might think I’m on a Mac; I’m not.
I’m on my Yoga because I needed
to install a Vietnamese language
pack to continue work on my book.
Mac and I had a falling out.
Among other reasons, my gamer
has become my main laptop for
everything. I’m out from under
the insidious Apple umbrella and
back completely in my Google
and Windows world.
(Is there such a thing as Apple
and iPhone AA?)
The Mac force may be with you
but it will no longer draw me back
to the dark side.
A rotten 2017 slowed down my
editing process, but I’m back on
track now tweaking chapter six.
O well. Sausage followed by
sleep may work. Thank God for
hot tea and my old bathrobe.
Poet, Writer, US Army (Retired)
I dreamed of writing when I was a youngster. The love of books and writing may have helped to dull the pain of severe sexual abuse as I was sexually abused by two men at my father’s place of work from age 8 to 12 or so. I learned about this for the first time when I was 50 years old. So, as a boy, reading was the only place I had to go to. My fantasy world was better and safer than my real world. I loved reading and writing.
Reading books and writing poetry are a joy to me still and are an important part of my life. (See my About Me page on my blog for the complete profile.)