Illness

I am sitting in the dining hall squeezing lemon into hot water like a grandma. I am sick, which I finally realized after I was still burning hot in my room with the windows open. In Boston. In December.

In some ways I become even more unpleasant when I'm sick (hard to believe it's possible, but it's true, I assure you)--I avoid all human contact, sleep at funny hours, totally abandon any pretense at cleaning my room, and generally become an antisocial hermit. More than usual, that is.

But in a weird way, I kind of enjoy being sick, intensely sleep deprived, or both. It gives my humdrum existence a sort of magical, hallucinatory quality that spices up the dullness of the everyday routine. I have long conversations with myself and entertain myself quite nicely.

The novelty is going to wear off awfully soon, though--hence the hot water and lemon juice.