Cave Writings

Huddled in a darkened room in the back of the house. Door closed. Curtains drawn, sunlight dully spilling through.

I’m afflicted. Sniffles. Congestion. Cough. It’s midday, but I’ve not left the bed except to get a drink of water, take medicine, or go pee.

The space heater is on in the room, making it all the more cozy. Tissues strewn the floor next to the bed.

I’m playing word games and dozing. I’m trying to get in front of this illness, head it off at the pass, stomp it down before it can do much damage.

There’s lots to do for the kids and my mom and year-end and Christmas, and I’m cut down at the moment, stuck in this sick cave trying to speed up nature’s course.

Flashes of all I need to do and things I might have forgotten and half dreams as I drift off, and back again, muddled and spilling out in these cave writings, but then…

…that’s not so bad. That checks two boxes, resting to heal, and creating a little something, not so bad at all.