a night in the sickhouse

This time the echinacea-therapy has failed. Both Kimmie and I have full-blown colds: strong, slow-motion infections rolling over our house. Kimmie has taken today off work.

Last night, after waking at 1:30, I eventually found I could not sleep, so I came downstairs at 3:00, poured myself a couple of whiskies, and sat reading The Golden Bough. By that time the traffic has died down, so all is quiet. The scotch was fiery on its way down--excellent. My state of mind lifted from dark and anxious to cheerful and optimistic--this is why liquor has survived as a human institution. The problem being that if you go back to that well too often, it stops working and starts becoming a disease.

At about 4:30 I switched off the light and lay down on the sofa, huddling under the wool blanket we keep there to await the dawn.