Wednesday, March 18, 2009


Why is it I seem to always fall ill in March?

March 2006


I feel clammy, my skin is damp and I don't know if it's me or my office, but I am moist, sticky and ill.

I am every imaginable gross definition of swamp foot. I feel like I'm in New Orleans in the dead of summer, gasping through thick air, suffocating under the humidity.

But I haven't broken into a fever yet. It's like my body is on the verge and it's fighting for its right to be healthy. I eat right! I do yoga! I refrain from the pint of whiskey!

So my insides are battling it out while I sit, a prisoner of my own skin, wanting to crawl out of this bad flourescent lighting to somewhere pretty and green.

Lots of questions from people these days about city living. Somedays I grow so tired of it. It's all the same streets, the same bars, the same stories. I don't meet people anymore because I don't go out. Because when I do I meet people who make fun of my music collection or who tell me it's not "me" it's "them", people who convince me it's always a good idea to go with your first drunken instinct.

So I stay at home. I put on the comfy pants. I get sucked into watching television. I feed myself Morningstar Veggie Products until I pass out. I go to yoga. I fall asleep at night with the vauge remembrance of what it was like to be in love. My insides battle with it. I can do without. I'm much more normal without.

But sometimes, normal is no fun, and neither is being sick without someone to hold your hair while you puke. That's when you know they really mean it.

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