We’ve acquired a virus here, both of us, and one of us has morphed into pneumonia.
The cacophony here is an endless hack-fest of partridges flumping their wings for romantic attraction, a sound that never ends. I feel like I’ve been in a nine-day torso slug fest, like Sylvester Stallone in his meat locker, talking sore, and as this thing dragged on as I learned earlier this year, when I’m sick, I get zilchwork done as I tend to sit or lay like a slug in one place, hacking and taking up space, my gyroscope collapsed like an exoskeleton on my supine bod. Lonnie seems to power through with verve, no surprise, women bring stronger. My brain seems to be lost in a state of inequilibrium where thoughts pass through but the grabber device won’t catch hold. Thinking so slow I can almost watch my brain work, but if I give into this, it puts me to sleep, which under normal circumstances is not particularly fast. It reminds me how after my stoke in 1998 I had to revise THE SNOWFLY manuscript post hospitalization, and my brain then raced and skipped around like a three-legged puppy on his first outside run, and I had to be watched back then so I didn’t topple out of my computer chair. (I never fell, but there were close calls.)
This thing is well, “ virusy,” a nonspecific form of a general malaise, a bit like the gall bladder extraction of this past fall, when I lay in bed like a great silent schlub and spent my time with absolutely no personal or professional agenda.
This time I’ve at least been able to contemplate certain important questions, such as how it is that I never developed the adolescence male skill for building up and expelling loogies? You’d think our evolving human genome would have made sure we all had this ability, but this seems wishful thinking on my part.
I found myself sort of staring stupid-headedly at the TV. Has it hit any of you how much Paul Ryan is a Charlie Chickenhawk lookalike? I had the opportunity to hear Nancy Pelosi’s laugh, which sounded like concertina wire being scraped without enthusiasm down a stretch of chalkboard. Egad! No wonder all of my conservative pals cannot stand the sight of her( With sight, comes chance of hearing. Not that fluffy laugh!) I also heard Speaker Ryan flub his words with “I’ll be rearry blief.” He even flashed a grinned (or did I imagine this?) seemingly to acknowledge the stumble ( “although it occurred to me later that he might have had a bet with one of his Wisconsin pals, (“hey, Lumppo, watch me pull this off). It was an odd moment.
Had to visit my physician, an old Navy Doc from up International Falls Minnesota way. He wrote me a couple of scrips for something his nurse called an antibiotic T-Bomb or Z-Bomb and some codeine-laced cough syrup
ur house has turned into a gathering place for sick seals and Walri learning to bark, a sort of hack-hackland. Sometimes Shaksper gives up, and slinks away to find a cone of silence.
Congress is back in session. Heard one of the august representatives proclaim this morning they’d been sworn in on Tuesday, “so we’ve only been back three days.” Okay, the cipeherin here done throwed me a tad? Tuesday until today is 7 days. Decrease the weekend that makes 5 days. Yet he said three days. How can we possibly communicate with such people?
Couple of new NPR show revamps this year. Diane Rehm, possibly one of the best interviewers ever, and on the air for something like 37 years has retired her on air show, and has been replaced by one Joshua Johnston, whose new program is called A-1, which refers to the First Amendment. Meanwhile the mystical Garrison Keillor of Prairie Home Companion had been on the air since 1974 has retired and turned over the helm of the ship mandolinist, Macarthur Grant winner Chris Thiele. We couldn’t get Diane Rehm in da yoop, so no loss here. Mr. Johnson is of the wide-eyed, pert, and instant jacked-up age of hair-standing enthusiasm but not in the least bit compelling then the juice is gone. We used to use Garrison and the PHC for a weekly event even up there, old fashioned radio in an old fashioned place. That dog won’t hunt this year.
Congress is in session. Let the Bitepartisanship commence.