Window of Consciousness

It is true that when you have a high fever and suddenly fall sway to anxiety and self-pity, you should not blog. Apologies for the unraveling yesterday. I do not usually intend for my blog to be performance art and to melt down in front of you all. My fierce streak of independence prevents me from seeking comfort from others or even medical attention unless I am dying (I do not even pick up the phone, what is the point of telling someone your condition?), but my streak of self-displaying narcissism surely demands that I blog about it.

Both The Dude and The Roomie are gone this weekend, which is good, because they have not seen me transform from a clever, funny girl into this strange, silent, feral beast that roams the house in search of toast and orange juice. I am at once hyper-alert and suspicious of my surroundings, and yet I have dull, stupid senses. I have not spoken all day and have turned on no music or television, and it is easy to get used to silence. The house is silent--what is that noise?! It turns out, the wind, which I haven't noticed because I have not left my house since 4:30 pm yesterday, much less the bed in my room. If the end of the world comes, I will emerge from my flannel-lined bomb shelter like Henry Bemis, only to break my glasses.

I thought my fever broke a few hours ago, but it turns out I was just hot. Yesterday's early productivity (running, working, cooking) gave way to twenty-four hours of delirium, from which I blogged. Likely one should not nurse an incipient cold by going for a six mile run in 40 degree weather, because rather than beating down nature, nature beats down you. I think I have been conscious and truly mentally present only a few hours today: from 10 am to 11 am, from 1 pm to 2 pm, from 4 pm to 5 pm, and currently now, at 7:30 pm my time. What I did in those few hours of awakeness was largely unproductive: I emailed, I surfed the web, I set aside A Passage to India and picked up Saturday. And then I go back into my flannel-lined bomb shelter and fall back asleep, and then I wake up coughing, and it starts all over again. I keep hoping that every time I wake up and "warm-up" to work by reading something, I'll actually get there. Alas, no.

Presently, I am rounding the corner for an hour of consciousness, and I am still conscious. We will see how long this lasts, whether I can get a decent blog post out, and whether I finish my employment surveys.