Tuesday. Life comes into better focus after a good cold/flu/dance with the devil who will one day do you in. “Better focus” boils down to the enjoyment of the minute, the listening to a song long loved from long ago, a cup of sake that is not one of too many cups of sake, a small conversation with the cat who sleeps contentedly on your bed. “Better focus”, unfortunately does not stop you from writing bullshit. “Enjoyment of the minute” indeed. Probably the fever. Fries your brain, makes for nonsense.
Saturday. The flu is receding, my days at the office moderately productive as long as they don't require thinking or initiative, which has been my routine for many years now, come to think of it. This flu has made me not only a recluse, my normal and admittedly comfortable condition, but a zombie recluse, hiding in his apartment taking naps and staring at the walls with his head buzzing. “I Was a Teenage Zombie Recluse!” scrolls by on my marquee, “Octogenarian Zombie Recluse Rips Loose on a Sunny Sunday (in Oakland)!” Whoop!
God that's bad. You really have been under the weather.
Sunday Better. Better is better. I'm writing crap, but better than my normal run of bottom of the barrel crap. The head is better (if I feed it pills and ointments) and I have gone outside and walked about the area once or twice without disaster. And going to work tomorrow sounds OK.