If the test of the true princess is the pea underneath mattresses, this week, I'd have snagged myself a prince, if I could have garnered enough energy. The changing weather seems to have melted my bones, gelled around bone-sockets, and is leaking out of my nose and eyes. But this weather seems to have affected not just my skeletal framework but also the couches and beds that offer no comfort as they are filled with bolder-like peas and pins and needles from quilts I've not finished.
Actually, I must confess, I am relieved that the flu has finally descended. It has been lurking around desks, just out of eyesight, a haunting more uncomfortable because it lacked definition. I have also been relieved for this downing because it means that I don't have to worry about being a support structure; I can let go and dissolve for a bit. And as it happens with all sickness, time expands while the fever clutches. When I feel better, I am heartened to know that only a few hours have passed, not few days or weeks.
Since the fever is not serious, the melting bones feel more like an indulgence, and each sneeze feels like a catharsis of sorts. It has also lent a construct to days that are unfettered by any routines; I know the worst time of the day descends once the day gets tired, and so I have been able to sort out some bookcases; this is especially significant because bookcases in my house are worse than some people's closets. They hold many ghosts; many unfamiliar books that no one claims; many favorites that cause strife about whose shelf they should reside on; and so, like a lot of healthily repressed families, we tend to not address them. But since the only contenders I have right now are the supremely incurious cats, I have finally sorted out a few haunted corners of the house, like that bookcase behind my child's door.
For each day, I assign myself a few chores. A day I don't get to a chore or two is especially welcome. These days I feel like an inversion of a Sisyphus, who relishes every inch his rock descends as much as his doppelganger cherishes each inch the rock climbs. It is also important to remember that Odysseus relishes the feel of being in the midst of the ocean, even more than he does reaching an island.
It was a Wednesday when I'd last looked at a calender; I washed my hair today, so it must be a Sunday. The immortals must feel thus, moored serenely in the middle of a never-ending break, melting every so often, every so often sorting out a messy corner, watching absolute nonsense on an indifferent screen or page that tell the same stories and enjoying it all, always keeping within ken the dream of hectic days, with resolutely mandated wakings and dreamings, of constant heeding.
The weather has turned chilly again tonight, perfect for a melting. I shall vend towards the couch and dream of needles, peas, and books that don't belong anywhere.
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