As I get older my illnesses have been punctuated by new and troubling dramatic events, such as the yearly appearance of the herpes family reunion right in the middle of my face (everyone’s invited, after all) and the occasional draining of infected sinuses, which manifests itself as a very watery yellow liquid which the first time it happened I was convinced that I was going to die from some sort of meningitis (did you know that if you google “is this cerebrospinal fluid” the answers you get are NOT very reassuring?). Likewise it takes longer to get over these colds and don’t even start about the flu for which I am eternally grateful they’ve developed an annual partially effective immunization.
This is part of getting older, I suppose, part of life as we know it. There are a million ways of getting older and none of us are particularly graceful about it. I’m realizing today, as I ride to work on a later train because I stayed up too late watching/re-watching Kundo, that I’m not a kid and if I’m sleepy I should just go to bed, thank you very much.
I’m at Hillsdale because of it: I woke up about forty minutes late and I do remember the first alarm going off, I just don’t remember turning it off, which is a problem that I’ll have to remedy tonight, when I do end up getting more sleep. I stayed up a little late Tuesday night, very late last night, and … but why? It’s back to the selfish notion that I need X amount of time to myself or I can’t enjoy things, when really, it should be apparent that I’ve got enough time as it is, thank you.