The Infirmary

It seems ridiculous that I was back at work for less than two weeks and had to call in sick. I'd been feeling ill all week, not sure what was going on, and left after lunch yesterday. By the time I got home, my stomach was raging and I had all sorts of weird symptoms that were getting worse. My doctor never called me back so we went to the ER at 9:00 pm and they diagnosed a kidney infection. I ended up there until 2:00 a.m., asleep on a gurney, my arm hooked up to a bag of IV antibiotics, which made me feel better within a half hour.  I'm very relieved to find out what I had because the constant nausea and stomach pains were inexplicable since I just had all the plumbing checked out and my office mates think I'm turning into a hypochondriac. It was good to be given a definite diagnosis, to be hooked up to a bag of meds, and pass out knowing I'd feel better in a few days.  Today I am in bed, sleeping, awake, sleeping, awake, doing a little reading, some blog-surfing, until my energy crashes and I pass out on a pillow again. And it's cold and raining, so I don't feel like I am missing any spring.

Last weekend I tore apart my files looking for a poem I'd written about six years ago. I didn't find it yet. Sigh. My files are a mess. I need someone to organize it all for  me, since I don't have the energy or a file cabinet anymore. All the mags and books I've been published in are scattered everywhere.  My family will never be properly able to honor my posterity. (As if!)
I have one place left to look: on the ancient desktop in the studio. If it's not there, all I have is a very first draft and I'll never be able to recreate it as well as the original. One sister thinks she might have a copy, but it's been a week and I haven't heard back.  So my need goal is to get my writings and artwork properly organized and archived in some archival boxes that won't let the paper turn yellow, etc. In short, be a grown up about it.

In the tearing apart of the drawers, I found a folder full of foolscap, (love that word) with my draft of my very first novel, the one I began in Memphis when I finally had time to write, the one that is so autobiographical that I laugh at when I read it now. In between the laughs, however, is a funny story and I found myself being absorbed into the writing, most of which I did not remember. So I've decided it's worth a heavy pruning and editing and evolvement into series of short stories. So it was worth digging through the drawers even if I didn't find "Communion of Saints". I'll turn the desktop on tomorrow and search through the folders. I'm putting it off cause if it's not there, I'm going to be really sad and pissed off at myself.

And now I shall crash on a pillow, thankful that I am ont on the verge of puking for the first time in seven days. Life is good.