I wasn’t going to write about it, because it’s boring. We all get sick, a tedious thing, part of having a body. And now a thing with a new layer of plague panic. Three negative Covid tests suggest it’s not that. It’s just this, whatever is “going around,” as they say, dismissively.
For days (I’ve lost count), my brain hasn’t been able to contemplate anything other than my misery, so I thought I’d skip this week’s newsletter. But the head has cleared a bit this morning and, though I’m still coughing and wheezing and weak, I’m capable of telling you about it.
Lucky you.
I’m doing all the right things. Sleeping, supplements, honey and lemon. Drinking the tea that the Chinese store lady gave me weeks ago, like she knew. No idea at all what it is, the text is not for monolingual English speakers. She said, “for when you get sick,” so I drank it. She’s always so kind, sending me off with little gifts.
I fell sick on a trip to see family. Family can be a trial and this visit amplified the fact. Someone in the news referred to the most insane public figures (you know who I’m talking about) as “chaos monkeys,” and I immediately thought of members of my family. Chaos monkeys will make you sick. Not that I blame them, but I sort of do. A peaceful visit may have enabled my body to beat the thing. But no peace, just my extended family’s particular brand of chaos energy that lowers defenses and invites sickness.
Spring is springing, my writing window is full of cherry blossoms. I’ve forgotten the name of the tiny flowers scattered like a carpet of purple stars, clustered throughout the lawn and tucked into nooks of shadow. Tony’s in the back field, churning up the green. I hear his rattletrap tractor clanking behind the trees as I soak my sick face in the sunshine, first time outdoors in days.
The clearing of the brain is giving me hope.
It’s funny how a sickness will knock you down and make you realize just how good you had it. It’s like the universe gets tired of your whiny ass and says (Michelle Wolf voice), “YOU THINK YOU’VE GOT IT BAD?! I’LL GIVE YOU SOMETHING TO COMPLAIN ABOUT!,” and then hands you a misery that mimics a plague but isn’t, so that no one will even feel sorry for you. When health returns, the focus returns to minor complaints.
Life is a sickness of sorts, I suppose. The allergies and the bad knees. Dizzy spells and insomnia, achy joints and ringing ears. Everyone with a body has a complaint (or ten). Sickness (with a capital S) puts it in perspective. I was fine before, and now I’m not. I will be again, and then I’ll complain about my feet or my fluttery heart. On we go. It’s all relative.
I will survive, but more like Cake than Gloria Gaynor. It’s more my vibe, less triumph and more hanging by a string.
I’m daring to imagine an October writing retreat in New Mexico. Could I? (Maybe.) Would I? (Probably not.) Such a thing is unlike me, but maybe I need to be unlike me for a bit, see how it feels. Bust these velvet ropes, this gilded cage I’ve settled in. Assuming I’m all better by October.
Squill. The tiny purple stars are called squill.
Stay healthy out there. Please complain in the comments, if you’d like - I’d love the company!
Lisa
Things to share:
The music of light, with this delightful tidbit: “young women in Algiers, we are told, embroider with boxes of butterflies beside them, so that ‘from their harmonious blending of colors they may gain fresh enthusiasm and inspiration for their work.’”
Tom Waits’ gorgeous ode to spring, I listen to it every year (and throughout the year).
Everyone is sharing this
piece that's about spring and so much else, but there’s a reason. It’s glorious. I was going to quote something, but there’s too much. Just read it.A new Substack discovery: Dear Somebody by
. I love the Five Things format, her charming illustrations, and the way she shares great stuff.With the language and cadence of a born orator, Rep. Justin Pearson eloquently addresses the backward Tennessee legislature. The young give me such hope.
Short and not very sweet
I am catching up on your writing, so I'm sure you are now well. I am not. I have the plague, of sorts, and this essay makes me feel so freaking seen!
Love this! I've been thinking of ditching my gratitude journal and really letting it all hang out. (Life is hard.)
Thank you for this beautiful essay.