Saturday, July 24, 2010
Me: On this perfectly beautiful summer day, I am sick. Boo-hoo.
Myself: What are your symptoms?
I: Temp of 100, raging sore throat.
Me: No one gets sick at this time of year.
Myself: Sure they do. How about… um… Dengue Fever? West Nile Virus?
I: Don’t be dramatic. It’s just your hinky immune system and lack of sleep.
Me: Look at Peter O’Toole on TV. It’s the end of Lawrence of Arabia.
Myself: How can anyone have eyes that blue?
I: Lawrence wants a desk job now. I know that feeling. I felt that way when I left the Union.
Me: I will wind down now, cuddle with the cats, and see if I wake up feverless.
Myself: Ooo, I hear the fireworks of the Aquatennial. I’m going to the window.
I: Can’t see them. But I can hear them, and the neighbor dog is barking.
Me: This is not a very interesting conversation, but I am slightly feverish and need to get some sleep.
Myself: At least you are writing.
I: You have to write the bad stuff to get to the good stuff. Night night.
