Sour

Ann and I have both come down with the stomach flu. It's mild compared to our co-workers and friends who've had serious bouts with the virus spending their sick days running to the bathroom. We just feel queasy, as if we've just gotten off a swaying boat and must now walk on land. There's a knot in our stomachs and food seems unappealing. We've made a diet out of toast and bananas and last night we attempted mashed potatoes. Worst of all, we smell funny. Sour, like bad milk. I can't stand the skin I'm living in because it reminds me of baby slurp and nursing homes. Even my clothes are a bit rancid and no matter if I shower or put on new pajamas, the air around me, the air exuding from me smells curdled.

On top of all of it we're extraordinarily tired. It's amazing, in one way, how the body puts up a fight, battling with sleep against the armies of unknown bacteria that float through our systems. It's remarkable, really, but right now neither of us have the energy to marvel at any of it.

Instead, we lie around correcting papers, planning lessons, watching bad television, and making attempts to steady our sea legs every time we get up off the couch. It's a bummer in many ways, but most of all it's caused us to cancel our venture to B-town to visit my parents. Bread baking was planned and pizza making was scheduled all while we screamed at the television on Super Bowl Sunday. But, seeing how I came down with the bug first and then Ann woke up with the same queasiness, we decided it was best to keep our bugs and germs on this side of the Sound. Bread and pizza shall have to wait, though we do plan to lounge in front of the TV later this afternoon to watch the game.

We also have a four-footed visitor staying with us. Salal, an Australian/Chow mix, is staying for the weekend while her mother skis in Idaho. Luckily, Salal is an elderly dog and after short walks, she's as ready to sleep (and snore, I might add) as we are.

Meanwhile, life goes on outside our windows. The Ethopian Coptic Church Congregation has blocked the streets with attempts to find parking and beautiful veiled women stream up and down the sidewalks heading to the chanting church just around the corner. Our neighbors are cleaning up garbage from the empty lot at the end of the street and Mrs. Kravitz (the nosy neighbor) has just gone for a walk with her husband and their dog. It gives me hope to know that others are not riding the waves of this flu and that someday I shall feel better, but for now, it's more toast, a glass of watered down apple juice, and my feet up on the couch.

Yuck.