March 7, 2009

Pulmonaria, purple and white crocus, Lenten rose, daffodils a day or two off. The day was hot, actually, though my house is a little refrigerator, and I had to walk outside to know it.

Progress of the disease disappointingly gradual. Today I can scarcely stay awake, though the continents of scarlet have receded. Have eaten, though certain choices–surprisingly enough hummus– proved instantly nauseating. Jason and Denise arrived with provision. Jason last night scolded me roundly for not calling on my friends in times like these, and he was right. They were looking at my aquarium, and Jason said “Oops, there’s a dead one at the bottom.” Denise said “No, it’s still breathing. Don’t say things like that!” Turns out when I looked myself, it was dead. I wondered what the set of assumptions in that conversation had been. It was as though Denise thought it impolite to interfere in a death in the family. Or maybe the deceased piscine seemed a secret best kept close.