Myriad

I've been ill for the last few days.

Some sort of viral infection. I thought it was rubella but the blood test says it's not. Still all my symptoms were textbook rubella symptoms (that's german measles for you laypeople). Headache (from the swollen nodes), a mild rash, arthritic pain in the joints. Nothing too extreme but not particularly pleasant either.

Worse than the infection was the incarceration that comes with being sick and contagious. If you've ever spent more than a couple of days locked up inside your house you'll know what I mean.

Truth be told I didn't really feel that terrible. I didn't need to lay in bed or change my diet or take any medication. All I had to do was wait until my body fought off the virus and stay away from people (especially pregnant people) while it did so.

The trouble is, when you aren't actually sick to the guts, when you aren't so sick that you can't get up, hanging around the house or in bed all day can drive you a little loopy.

Because of the arthritis I couldn't do anything with my hands. I couldn't play my guitar and my head hurt too much to read for any extended period. So basically all I could do was listen to music, or talk radio. I listened to a lot of Air America online.

So basically I did nothing and got pretty depressed. I didn't even drink which is in retrospect a shame.

Did I learn anything? No. Did all that time alone lead me to some sort of epiphany? No. Did anything good come of the illness? Not much.

Then why did I bother to write about it? What was so fascinating that I felt the need to publish it here?

I don't know.

I felt the desire to write something and this is what came out. I know it's not pretty. I know it's not poetic. It is what it is.