It is beautiful for June on the coast. Sunny with a lick of breeze. Warm in the sun.
I am on the couch, taking lots of antibiotics, forcing fluids, critters passed out all around me. They are content with my lack of movement. Content, even happy.
Me not so much, feeling better but not well. Not well at all.
This is happening – me curled up on the couch with Lewis, the cat, acting as sentry at one end, two greyhounds stretched out across their beds, yet another bottle of gatorade emptied in the recycle. Me longing to be in the sun and breeze, beside the chicken coop, checking on the tomatoes, rustling around the herb garden. Plans all around me need to be made and me too addled to be of assistance.
I wish I was walking the dogs on the river. I wish I was just coming in from a run, getting ready to head out to work. I wish I had just ate anything that wasn’t soup and drank anything that wasn’t gatorade.
Who knew I liked gatorade so gosh darn much? (Surprise – in real life, I don’t).
Even when it is sunny on the coast.