Virus as art

By Marcos Girao...I think he perfectly capture the moment for me...

 
As I lay in the bed, sort of cold but not really, sort of in pain but not really, sort of thirsty, sort of hungry...suddenly a little zingy pain shot down one side of a top front tooth. Then it shot down the bottom tooth exactly opposite.

I coughed, a dry cough that send my ribs rattling around like forks in a tin. I lay back.

I DON'T LIKE THIS. It has to change. I have to create something better out of this. It's ugly. But not even ugly enough to love. Not, for example, as ugly as a Chinese crested, a dog one would have to love or ... I don't know what...they're so beastly ugly.

This isn't that ugly. Should I say thank god? Or should I simply call for Simon to come downstairs from his belfry (oh, god, I couldn't take the sight of that mess today) and make me a favored beverage: Pepsi mixed into milk. Yes. That.

Chills begin. Complaining. "I feel AWFUL." He mutters kind things like, "Poor darling."

And, "Is there anything I can do for you?"

"No. Yes."

He looks at me, kind eyes wondering how long I'll moan about next to nothing this time.

I usually feel good. Really good. Even after too much to drink.

I feel so cruddy. Poor Simon. It's better to live alone, I think, when one is half-sick.

Influenza virus, monkeyed with on Picasa

I got up. And then realized my head was all stuffed up. Feeling out of balance.

AHA! Maybe I should look for a homeopathic remedy for balance. I had to deal with balance in a painting this morning. Balance.

Chills again, but the coughing has stopped. For how long? And do I have any Codis in the house? Codeine stops coughs. It's natural, like (sort of) aspirin. Better than Veganin with one of those chemical things and codeine.

This is another reason for moving to the UK: codeine OTC. In the US, you need a doctor's prescription for something as simple as a bit of aspirin with a tiny bit of blessed codeine in it. I never left the country without bringing back a bunch. The TSA idiots at airports were, thankfully and as usual, clueless.

There now. I know what to do. This thing has gone from delicate lines, almost not even there, to scratchings of a mad artist...mad in the sense of angry. No strength left for that now. Perhaps a hot bath is coming on.

The funny pains running down the fronts of teeth are gone. My throat itches, though. And my eyes feel hot.

I must have a fever. What does that mean? Not in terms of health, exactly. In terms of cocktail hour. I guess I should not have a cocktail...I don't actually want a cocktail. But I don't want tea, either.

My wanting tea is a sure indication I am ill. I loathe the stuff when I am well. I drink it rarely, usually only at life-drawing sessions. Why? Beats me. It's art. Something outside the normal run of my life...

Missing life drawing tonight. Felt punky early today.

BUT NOT LIKE THIS. This is...  This is...  Well, this is halfway to sick.

That's as far as I want to do. I don't like this picture. I'm going to tear it up and throw it away, that's what.

And start another one tomorrow...after eating more odd things. Today, scrambled eggs, orange juice, coffee. Then toasted cheese sandwich and a small glass of Pepsi. Then part of a chocolate bar. Then two galettes and one slice of pepper salami. Then a couple of palmiers. Then the milk and Pepsi. Then another galette. Viruses make one's palate do odd things....I never eat like that. I could go for some ice cream. There's mint chip in the freezer....

Signing off now. If I stand up, I'll know my head is still oddly ballooney inside. My eyes are sort of dull, but glazed. How would one PAINT that? My kneecaps hurt. Just the kneecaps.

It sure felt good when Simon rubbed them earlier. I think I need to paint a fake Titian or something and flog it. I could use an in-house massage therapist. Or a trip to Greece.

Maybe I should ask for donations. No, really. I'm not delirious. A friend just did to pay for a trip to Sierra Leone. OK. Not a holiday. He's a psychologist and is going to help the nation deal with its PTSD. But I guess that's not at all the same as a painter wanting to go to Santorini to swim in the warm Med?

Meds. I should take meds. Gotta find those Codis now. And have a slice of emmenthal. And take a bath. And paint the first totally abstract canvas I've ever done and call it Virus as Art. Tomorrow. When I WILL feel better.

At one time, most cough syrups had codeine. Ah, for the good old days!