Fevered, full-moon sleep. Up every hour or two. Aching muscles, tossing and turning. Glasses of water. Ten thousand tissues. Relief at daylight, coffee followed by echinacea tea with honey, a fried egg, avocado, tortilla. Feed a fever? I always forget. Small mountain of vitamins and herbs, swallowed with juice. A text sending healing vibes from a good friend. I’d like to sit with a good friend. Have someone rub my feet while I drift. Brain fog, heavy body, wash the sheets and pillowcases, bathe off the night, remake the bed, crawl back in. Pay bills, empty dishwasher. Time warp, without the routine of work. School starting in a week, sitter bailed, have to figure out after-school plans for the girls. Minutes become hours become days become weeks become months become years. Fever has its way with me. Breath calling, grateful to be able to inhale through my mouth, scary to imagine losing breath. Temple rub, tight. Vision of skulls, upper left quadrant. Perspective shifting, questions of what would happen given time to do nothing. Creativity dormant, knocking, my loyal tenant. Or is she the owner of this house, this body? I pay the rent and wait. Sit. Lie down. Stare at the ceiling and listen. Mind cement. No fighting off, only moving through. Seeing what happens. Taking a vow of gratitude for energy and good health. Red flag on the mailbox, letter to a muse. Come visit. We’re long overdue.