Being sick is like being cast into a barren land, seemingly barren in the sense that it is impossible to go out to mix with the world. It is a purging I go through several times a year, as my body takes control of my life for me, saying slow down, get out of the fast lane.
I can’t sleep. I think about last night, sitting around the kitchen table laughing and talking, and the moment when I drifted away from our cozy warmth, noticed a heaviness in my heart that had become chronic, and had successfully remained unidentified. When I asked silently, who are you, why are you here, a scene from last weekend flashed through my mind, when Marie visited me in Rhinebeck.
