An object at rest tends to stay at rest. I’ve been resting for days, unable to do much else. I have stayed in the house near the bathroom or in bed because I couldn’t eat enough food to keep my energy up. Today, though, I did see the doctor, who, as expected, shrugged and said it’s probably a bug and it will go away in a few days. In the meantime, I should take Immodium and eat. Especially if I am hungry. And so when I returned I ambled through the house looking at things. There are piles of things gathering dust and more things. I limply pick a thing off the top of a pile and consider it, then either toss it in the trash or move it to another pile. I shuffle downstairs and look at my children, sprawled out on the couches watching Spongebob. I have only enough energy to marvel at the length of their limbs, at the number of new freckles on their cheeks, and at their inertia. It’s catching, I suppose, when Mom, who is generally in motion, leads by example. At one point yesterday I was lying in bed watching “Old School” on TV and Stewart came in the room. “Wow,” he said. “You must really be feeling bad. You never just lay around like this.”
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