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Today was awash in normality. I woke at 5 from a zombie-combat dream and lay in bed, wondering if I should try to reach the on-call doctor or stick with the previous plan to let it all ride until Monday. I leapt up as I heard the Old Man shuffle past. He calmly informed me that he wouldn't need me to go fetch the turkey from the butcher shop after all and I should go back and get some rest.
When I woke up again, it was close to 8 and I'd just been dreaming of a plot by my extended family to stage a big-ass wedding and reception for the two of us. With some difficulty, I reinserted myself into my normal workday routine. I actually found the time to shave my cheeks for the first time in days.
Of course, once I got to work, I had to catch up my coworkers on recent events. They were listless, impatient to see a slow day end and their holiday weekend begin. Meanwhile, I was reveling at being in a building with fluorescent lighting which didn't smell of iodine and ammonia. (As I told my mother on the phone, hospitals don't frighten me; they bore me senseless. It's like visiting a laundromat, only with fewer windows and more waiting around.)
I came home to find the mince pie baked, the sweat potatoes casseroled, and the bird in the oven. The GWO greeted me on the porch and then stepped inside to prepare a risotto. After dinner, we adjoined to the front room to sit in front of the fire and eat scraps of pie crust sprinkled with cinnamon sugar. Later I finished my novel and then called my mother.
In my darkest hour last weekend, I remember thinking, I want my life back. Now it seems a stupid thing to say, since of course it never went away. There's no going back to what it was before--but then, there never is. Stasis and stability are an illusion the mind casts over a state of constant change. On seem level, I know this; on another, it's a principle which has to be demonstrated to me again and again.
When I woke up again, it was close to 8 and I'd just been dreaming of a plot by my extended family to stage a big-ass wedding and reception for the two of us. With some difficulty, I reinserted myself into my normal workday routine. I actually found the time to shave my cheeks for the first time in days.
Of course, once I got to work, I had to catch up my coworkers on recent events. They were listless, impatient to see a slow day end and their holiday weekend begin. Meanwhile, I was reveling at being in a building with fluorescent lighting which didn't smell of iodine and ammonia. (As I told my mother on the phone, hospitals don't frighten me; they bore me senseless. It's like visiting a laundromat, only with fewer windows and more waiting around.)
I came home to find the mince pie baked, the sweat potatoes casseroled, and the bird in the oven. The GWO greeted me on the porch and then stepped inside to prepare a risotto. After dinner, we adjoined to the front room to sit in front of the fire and eat scraps of pie crust sprinkled with cinnamon sugar. Later I finished my novel and then called my mother.
In my darkest hour last weekend, I remember thinking, I want my life back. Now it seems a stupid thing to say, since of course it never went away. There's no going back to what it was before--but then, there never is. Stasis and stability are an illusion the mind casts over a state of constant change. On seem level, I know this; on another, it's a principle which has to be demonstrated to me again and again.
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