Still getting over this bug.
Throat feels a little less hellish. I sound a little less like the creature from the Black Lagoon (if he smoked since childhood and habitually chased razor blades with shot glasses of battery acid)…my apologies to anyone who’s tried having a phone conversation with me this week.
On the good news – I lost four pounds today…of mucus.
I’m giving my body one more day before I jump to extreme measures…I’ve gotta finish unpacking, gotta start writing.
Today, I saw a very large deer wander through my backyard. Yesterday, a very large snapping turtle scuttled out of the woods and into the yard, craning its neck like ET. That’s why I like where I live (at least, for the few months that I’m not at school or elsewhere) in the northwest burbs. I can watch prodigiously large mammals and reptiles in the yard. Twenty minutes away, and I’m in commercially congested burbs (Sears Tower in distant view on a clear day). Forty minutes away, and I’m in the city proper. Twenty-Five minutes another way, and I’m at Six Flags. Fifteen minutes, yet another way, and I’m at the only quaking bog in Illinois, with its floating islands of sphagnum moss, dark-acidic water, and carnivorous plants (the idea that a plant up and decided to eat animals just sounds deliciously wicked to me).
That’s where I like to go to run. It’s also where I keep one of my muses (I like to write different sorts of stories with different sorts of voices…and thus I have a very highly fickle fidelity towards my muses). Her hair falls in mossy tendrils – her tongue leaves syrupy-sweet bayou rhythms, equal parts blues and reptile croons – her breath breeds ghost stories of mummified bog bodies – her eyes are pools of darkly reflective water, the color of strong tea, darker than amber.