Fighting it off after days of sweats & chills, throat hell, weakness, tea & soup, British period pieces & grisly mysteries, the battle nearly won, except for a trickle of constant sniffs, cat attacking the tissue box. A clean house, freshy laundered bedding, a full fridge after an outing for preposterous uppity groceries (kale, mushrooms, olives, avocado, chevre, San Pelegrino, espresso, etc). Not out at the zombie party, not my style, instead in bed with legs up the wall, reading new Sheila Heti:
My brain had not worried me when I was younger, but over the past year I had become convinced that I did not think as well as other people. No, that was putting it too gently-- that I did not know how to think at all.
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