• Tutankhamen
• lapping
• abaxial
• abient
• impulsive
• illegible
• dobro

My brain is strangely clear this morning, after at 24-hour cocktail of fever, confusion, and a dash of fear. Diana dropped by for five minutes yesterday—five life-changing minutes as it turned out—for she came bearing two fantastic drugs – Theraflu, and Airborne. Airborne is just an all around good policy for boosting the immune system; I should be taking it more often when these kinds of bugs are going around. But Theraflu is a butt-kicker, laying waste to the little viral beings that wouldst spoil your day. I took it, got sleepy about 20 minutes later, slept like Tutankhamen, woke up 4 hours later, breathing, parched, absolutely dying of thirst. Even my nose and lips were parched as pharoah’s lips.

Doctors – and this includes you Jeff, if you’re reading – should take note: if you prescribe something to a patient, for instance, “drink more liquids”, you really should find a way to enforce that prescription. Taking Theraflu, for instance, guarantees that I will hydrate my body, as I’ll have no choice. Every time I get up from taking it, I drink at least two glasses of water; I treat my nose to unguents; in short, I follow orders because I must.

The drugs, and countless hours of sleep, have brought me to this juncture: should I take more drugs, or try to remain awake? And if I remain awake, what shall I do? I’ve already ripped through my Netflix movies. Two of the movies did not hold my interest long enough to complete, but the third – I’ll call it XYZ so as not to run the real movie for anyone – is one that left me wanting more. Weird, because XYZ seemed to last about 4 hours. Normally, that would not be an endorsement for a movie, but this was a period piece, set between like 1910 and 1930, and I really felt transported to that era. One of the main characters, Lytton, plays a writer who likes to challenge the Victorian behavioral and sexual norms of the time. He also refuse to serve in WW I, as a conscientious objector. And, he’s gay, or, as they put it often in the film, a “bugger”. The other main character, Dora, a painter, falls in love with Lytton. His sexual feelings for her are never requited, yet her devotion is complete. She meets many other men during the course of the tale, has relationships with them, but lives with Lytton and is dedicated to him. And part of her, too, always wishes that his feelings would be requited. For his part, there’s a kind of longing too, that he could love her the way she loves him. Instead of just breaking your heart, and causing you to spew clichés, though, their love has a dignity to it. It’s not all loss. It fits into the category so neatly summed up by the Facebook phrase regarding relationships – they give you options, such as “in a relationship”, “dating”, and “it’s complicated.” Lytton and Dora are definitely complicated.

Maybe the movie did actually take 4 hours to watch, because I dozed on and off. All I know is that I started to feel toward these people the way one feels toward a close group of friends. I looked forward to our next meeting. And when it ends with Lytton dying, and Dora taking her own life with a shotgun, I was sad that I wouldn’t see either of them anymore.

Writing that last paragraph reminded me of the feelings I developed for the cast members of Six Feet Under. Such deep feelings for people one will never meet are a little scary—e.g., am I incapable of creating a sense of family on my own? Will I always seek it in fiction or movies? It underscored how much I’ve been longing for that sense of community, and how little I have of that sense. [Boy, that sentence was poverty-stricken but I’m in no mood to enrich it.]

On the other hand, it really wasn’t until Six Feet Under that I understood something fundamental about fiction. I had heard writers say that they had created characters that they fell in love with. When I would hear that, it would seem absurd. You made the character up, you know it’s just a figment of your imagination, I would think. You’re just such a narcissist that you disguise your self-enamoredness as love of characters dreamed up by your mind! But once I fell in love with Nate and David and Brenda, I got this concept. The creators of these characters actually developed relationships with each. If they hadn’t done that, they couldn’t have come up with such authentic dialogue between them. These characters are, on some levels, just as real as you or me. Looked at another way, we’re all made up, too, right?
“All the world’s a stage,
And all the men and women merely players”, etc.

* * * *

Looking at that famous passage—in particular the lovely mewling–inspired a new game (probably very old, invented by many others, but anyhow). Just grab random words from a great poem or passage, and work them into your furrow. A quick trick to Amazon yields this book—might be fun: Coined by Shakespeare.

* * *

Lover, I have whined, and I have whimpered.
I’ve mewled quietly into my satin pillow, with your scent still on’t.
Jealous of your own pillow, where your head now lays.
For when I rise you sleep; when I sleep, you rise.

Exit 2007, enter 2008. A new age.
Less formal, less severe.
No pretense at wise saws,
No more hacking away at the stage.
The play is now. The play is us.

Let it be deliciously long.
When it ends, let the ending please.

Words for tomorrow:

toothsome / helium / subshrub / flashback / database / dismiss