There are cinematic tropes — cliches if one isn’t being so highfalutin — that foreshadow ill health tragedy. A lead character rubs his or her head and says, “I just need an aspirin…” and by the end of the picture he or she has a brain tumor. Someone coughs into a handkerchief and there’s a dollop of blood — BOOM — by the end it’s consumption!
Now there’s nothing so dire on my horizon… at least, I don’t think so… but I am definitely scrounging about for an aspirin or any medication of any kind. I’m sleeping whenever and however I can — the nice thing is my couch is perhaps the greatest couch in the history of couch-dom. It sucks you in and cuddles you and anybody who has been to my house remarks on how truly livable, nap-worthy, and inviting this couch is. It will be a sad day when I say goodbye to it as I am not like to look upon or sit upon its like again. And I got such a good deal on it when I bought it with a matching chair and a half (seriously — once you go chair and a half, you’ll never go single chair again). But it’s not worth transporting it or storing it when the clock tower tolls for me.
But I digress. That’s what happens when you find yourself in a proverbial coughing fit and reach for a linen white hanky… the better to make the red pop on screen.
My alarm is set for 4 AM tomorrow to make the long drive out to Sedona, AZ. Perhaps its desert air will help — isn’t that where the TB sanitariums were in the 1930s or is that just a fever dream hallucination I see before me?
(cough-cough).