Wednesday, February 27, 2013

No person with insurance

Finally sleep comes, lots of it. So much that I just kept falling back in, as if the motionless pool of it was expanding around me. I couldn't ever seem to reach the shore. Without a sound I just kept sliding back into the submerged dreams of it all. 

There must be something wrong with me. Who fluctuates this much in sleep? No sane person would stand for it, not one with insurance anyway.

But I feel good this morning, rested. 

Rhys is climbing, running and walking now. Everywhere he goes, doubling his overall speed in the span of a month. 

A few nights ago Rachel and I were standing in the kitchen/dining room area. She went to distract him from playing in the dog food bowls (a favorite pastime of his), he turned to run back towards me but tripped, an open drawer was between his forehead and the ground. He hit hard, the corner. The effect was instantaneous. Rachel snatched him up from behind as the tears and wails were starting to burst. We were both desperate to check. His eyes were fine, at least. He was really screaming but the skin wasn't broken. I prepared for a trip to the emergency room. Within a few minutes a nasty purple/black welt had emerged on his forehead. 

It was barely noticeable the next day. It seemed impossible. His recuperative abilities are nothing short of magical.

Mine are non-existent. Every ailment I take on has become a permanent one. The main difference between normal aging and having AIDS is primarily just an issue of time. The body's ability to protect and heal itself just starts to slowly diminish, eventually stretching on into infinity, never to heal again. All things become a threat. It is impossible not to notice. I want to take the day off from work but know that I will soon need them all saved up, safely squirreled away. 

We want to go to Italy, where people drink wine and eat rich foods all day with lots of oil, and then live to be a thousand years old. 

Or is that France?