black chevrolet

The extent to which a fever and a headache can curdle one's brain is quite interesting.  I successfully restrained myself up until now from running to my computer and tapping out a blog post about some disconnected imagination I'd have been sure to forget halfway through imagining it; but here I am blogging about disconnectedness anyway.

*Here's to filler posts* (clink) - that was the empty teacup falling off the desk.  Thank goodness it was empty.  I'm not in the mood to clean up spilled tea.

I think people, especially Californians, should get sick more often. (Young people who have full powers of recovery of course) as it is a potent reminder of one's own mortality and one's helplessness in the face of an angry God.  Not to mention a desperately needed opportunity to sit and think.  Who is gonna sit and think for a day and a half unless one is (a) taped to a chair or (b) sick with fever?  I mean, seriously.  Spiritual reflection, willed or otherwise, is only truly possible in quiet, and if one has a pounding headache, the room better be quiet.

There isn't much else to do.

Much else including for me Tolstoy's epic work "Anna Karenina".  It's not as good as Brothers K.  Tolstoy shouldv'e stuck to war stories.