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Diary of a Sicko

Here’s the story: late Friday night, or early Saturday morning, I wake up feeling strange … something in my lungs, maybe. Saturday I’m OK, not feeling great, but well enough to ride my bike, practice the piano, go to my office to prepare my radio show. Sunday, after the show is over, I feel terrible. Normally I like to hang out in my office after the show: send an email to Jim Dandy, post my playlist, read blogs, strategize for the week ahead, water my plants, eat a sandwich … No such thing this Sunday! I felt awful. I had a cough. I was tired. I went home and slept.

I had weird dreams. I kept dreaming about Russian artists who suffered under Stalin. The poet Osip Mandelstam, who was in the Gulag for like three years, but who came out about 20 years older; composer Dimitri Shostakovich, who must have been completely stressed when he found out that Stalin didn’t like his latest symphony. I had been reading Alex Ross’s book, The Rest is Noise, a history of twentieth-century music. (I’m reading the book at a snail’s pace, because I need to get glasses, but typically, instead of getting my eyes checked and getting the glasses, I’m putting it off.) Anyway, the Shostakovich story, along with seeing, while going though some of my papers, some before and after photographs of Mandlestam, turned out to be the stuff of my bad dreams.

Sunday night before going to bed (I had already slept through the afternoon … I had meant to practice the piano, but I was too tired), I took a couple of Ibuprophin tablets, thinking that would get my fever under control. It worked at the start: I woke up at like one a.m., feeling great, thinking I would be at work the next morning for sure … back to sleep I went. Fast forward to 3:30 a.m. My pajamas are soaked with sweat, and I’m freezing. I’m shivering like never before in my life. I put on a winter coat and a winter hat, but to no avail. I can’t stop shivering. Finally, I have to take a hot shower. It isn’t easy to pull myself out of bed, but I have to do something about this chill. The shower does the trick.

Afterwards I went right to sleep and didn’t dream about persecuted Soviet artists at all. I called in sick the next morning, and between my teacher and me, we decided that it would be better to cancel my piano lesson.

Today, while not at a hundred percent, I was able to drag my sorry ass to work. My Chinese colleague, knowing that I had been sick, told me something very interesting: Chinese medicine believes that speaking takes a great deal of energy or vitality, more even than sports. I’m fascinated with the idea, even though I’m not quite sure what to make of it.

Speaking of sports, I showed up at church league basketball this evening and played just about as you would expect a convalescent to play, bricking the three shots I took. The other team came back from a big deficit to beat us 43-40. At one point, during the last minute, I got the ball, eluded my defender, and had an open jumper from the baseline. I let it go and it felt right. But it clanked off the front rim. That shot would have put us up 42-40. Oh well. I probably shouldn’t have even gone to the game, but I’m like that.

Now I have insomnia. Figures, with all the sleeping I’ve been doing the last few days. It’s strange but I feel like I need to come on strong, get things done, make up for lost time, for being sick. I know, I’m deluded, but I can’t help it, that’s how I’m wired.


Licence to ill

Sorry to hear you're feelin ill. It's winter, if you can't lay low now and recuperate, then when can you?
I have no room to talk on that matter. Sick days are not an option for me if I want my business to be open. Life must go on. Fortunately, I almost never get sick, and I can keep trudging along with the aches and pains that come and go. Sleeping is my primary ailment. I am usually pretty lucky if I can sleep five whole hours in a row. That's a full nights sleep.
What usually happens is I wake up after a couple hours and feel all rested. Then I'm tempted to just get up. But I don't. I lay there and think about how tired I will be by the time it's time to go to work. Eventually, I fall asleep about an hour or two before I have to get up, then I'm twice as tired as I should be. I feel like I'm wasting time by trying to sleep when my brain seems more alert than it does all day.
Sorry, didn't mean to talk about me so much. You probably feel worse from reading all of this. I hope I'm not in your next nightmares because of it. haha
Take care. Be well.

the sick one

sorry to hear you are not feeling well but glad to hear your feeling a little better! i'm trying to figure out the sicko part in your subject? sicko meaning that you are ill or the fact that you would go play basketball after feeling so poorly! i would have been out of work for atleast a month..haha

Sicko, Sicko, Sicko

JIM: Don't worry, it's always interesting to read about the great Jim Dandy, (not that I really want him in my dreams).

DETH: that's a good question. I guess sicko in both senses is accurate. If I could keep away from my job for a month I could really get some work done!


You were able to drag your sorry what ??
Not correct english!!
hey! agree you are weird after all!:-)

I'm weird,

and proud of it. So there! Take that! Aha! And who are you to talk about correct English?

Anonymous, you're a thorn in my side. ;


oh yeah try me pal i'm ready!

February 2019



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