Looking for the Moon
Middle of the night. 0300. I wake up shivering and aching, the surreal images of fever dreams lingering in the dark.
I stumble into the kitchen and down a couple of ibuprofen. I shuffle to the other side of the house and check on my son. He’s breathing and his skin is clammy, but he’s not feverish. I think he might be over the worst of it.
Mei stares at me from her spot on the ottoman. Even she knows it’s a ridiculous hour to be awake, so she graces me with a dramatic cat yawn and is soon snoring again.
As the medicine kicks in, the chills give way to waves of heat. I strip down to my boxers in the living room, leaving my baggy GU sweats and hoodie on the couch.
My appetite suddenly returns with a vengeance. 0400. Standing in the kitchen half-naked, making scrambled eggs with too much butter, toasted sangak, and a generous chunk of feta.
0420 blaze it. But no, not really. Now I sit here at the computer, writing this silly post. I almost feel bad for the people who waste precious minutes reading it. Almost.
I wonder if I’ll sleep again today, or if I’ll suffer a bittersweet sunrise alone.
I canceled the trip to San Francisco. The more I thought about it, the more I realized that even if we suddenly recovered, it would be irresponsible to get on a plane and expose people to this plague. United gave me a full credit, and the hotel only charged me for one night. If I had waited any longer, I’d have been charged the full amount of the stay.
And so now I feel stuck again. In this sick body, in this shitty town, around these redneck dorks. I was looking forward to redwoods and cool bay breezes. I need to start planning again, maybe somewhere different.
I think I’ll go outside for a while, look for the moon. I don’t see her much these days.