FEELING LIKE

The problem, when you go to bed early on a Thursday after calling in sick for Friday because of a late season flu is that by four in the morning your body says it's had enough sleep and can't do anymore, so you get dressed and go outside with a pipe while it's still dark out there and discover that while it's excellent briar and a lovely Virginia-Perique mixture, you don't feel like finishing the bowl. While it's umbrous and gloomy outside. And that's even if you went uphill slightly to get away from the sleeping weirdoes on the main drag.

So you go back home and put the half-finished pipe in one of the rests near your rattan easy chair to smoke sometime later. When you body doesn't feel like crap warmed over. Something the cat would have dragged in if it felt more energetic.

Delayed gratification.


I don't often call in sick. Largely because I don't like being outside the thick of things at work and leaving stuff undone. But yesterday evening I realized that I would be darn well useless for much of the day, and didn't want to deal with my coworkers or the festering fossils in the backroom while I felt like this. Or, for that matter, the smell of pot on the bus, and any of the irregulars who might wander in once I got there.

Perhaps I should go back to bed and hibernate till Spring.
I am an itchy burrowing creature.

So anyway, there's a pipecleaner in the shank, and I might have some tea later. Meanwhile, more bedrest. Should be alright by tomorrow. These things usually don't last long. And while this bout is physically achy, it is not interfering with my tastebuds or tolerance for chilies.
So there is a capsaicin-rich silver lining.

Not that I'll have much of an appetite.



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