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We Who Have The Flu.

January 21, 2011 \am\31 7:36 am

And hopefully by now are getting over it enough to be semi-coherent, tend to lay awake at odd hours of the night, or early morning after finding out there is yet ANOTHER snow day, and obsess on why life is the way it is. We think about why we’ve not been able to write much of anything lately. How it’s not that the words are stuck, it’s just that they’re not even there. We start wondering if maybe this silly writing phase of our lives is over and now it’s time to get on with more respectable endeavors. We wonder what it would feel like to start deleting things, severing links. Luckily we are too weak to get up and turn on the computer.

We think about the things people have said or written to us and try to strip mine the possible double or triple meanings behind what they’ve said or not said. We do this until our brains are spinning. We convince ourselves that we obviously  must not matter at all to whoever we are currently considering, and it spirals out to that person and that person until we are sure that we are completely utterly totally absolutely alone in this world. Luckily it is the middle of the night and there is three feet of snow topped with a layer of ice on the ground and it is just too damn cold to wander off into the woods to become coyote food.

We think about all the ways we’ve let others down. Promises we’ve not quite upheld. Friends we’ve unintentionally hurt. Unreturned emails. Books borrowed and not returned. Things we’ve said we’d do and have honestly forgotten (since we’re that age) but which we are sure the other person is obsessing about how come we’ve not done fill-in-the-blank and are plotting our demise.

Then, after hours of this, as dawn arrives with large flakes floating down on top of said layer of ice, we realize, that just like the piled up laundry we trip over, these things will get done. Maybe we’ll run out of clean underwear in the meantime, but life usually goes on.

  1. Kam permalink
    January 21, 2011 \am\31 10:15 am 10:15 am

    I like the category (rant): alhough you can tell that you’re still sick – it feels kind of like someone struggling vainly against a pillow being pressed to their face, not quite sure if they want to accept the quiet death they are being offered, yet sure that at some level they may actually deserve it. Whenever I read your writing I am deeply struck by how similar our thoughts ate, I only wish that I could be as eloquent in expressing them as you are.

  2. January 21, 2011 \pm\31 1:14 pm 1:14 pm

    i loved this, especially the last line. running out of clean underwear is going to become my new favorite existential metaphor.

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