Contentment Diary 1/5/10

Today I sat on my bed glaring at my MacBook all day. I set my alarm for 6:00 thinking any day you set an alarm for cannot by definition be a lazy day. Not as true as you might think, it turns out. I spent all day writing the 4 pages I’d intended to have done by 8:00 am, and then I sent them off with an apology for their general ineptitude.

I believe my body and mind have demanded a between semester crash. It’s worse to semi-cave than just go for broke. Going back to work without the crash is just plain disaster. It will happen at some point whether you’re off work or not, and when it does nothing will stop you from staying in your PJs all day, eating Doritos, and watching back-to-back episodes of Judging Amy or something you’d prefer not to admit to in public.

I’ve made promises to various people that I would get things done, though, and so I sat hating myself, neither here nor there, neither crashed nor mobile.

My back still hurts, but I didn’t notice until I forced myself into the cold to fetch two pieces of junk mail, one of which is addressed to someone I’ve never heard of before, at my house though. For most of the day I was convinced I had bronchitis. That could still be true. I’ll know in a few days when I have no choice but to venture beyond my driveway. By then it will probably be tuberculosis or asbestos damage.

There are probably other points to add to my day’s contentment, but my head is pounding, and I have big plans to take some Ibuprofen–which by the way is dyed a scary bright red color in the off brand that I’m probably allergic to–and have a sulking contest with a cat on a low fat diet.

Poetry Tuesday: Under the Microscope

Under the Microscope

In the right light, and from
the right distance, anyone
can look good. Vivian Leigh
at the barbeque would be jealous
of you when you put on a little
mascara, dim the lights,
and take a picture of the mirror
fifteen feet away.

But under the microscope,
that baby cute skin is a carrier
for corruption and staph infection
no matter how many times
you’ve Germ-Xd your hands.

In the hospital, the air is kept cool
to slow down molecules
and thus to minimize the damage
you might do to yourself and others.

We sit together, only a mocha latte,
a blueberry muffin, and a billion
molecules of disease separating us
as we attempt to make
each other believe we matter.

If we heat our words with coffee,
does that mean they move faster,
reducing the risk we’ll dissect
for the ugly minutia
attached to our lives
inevitably, involuntarily
along the way?