Friday, January 11, 2008


Pneumonia. It sounds like it could be a small fishing nation or a part of South America. It's not nearly so fun. I went back to the doctor today to learn that a secondary pneumonic infection has settled into my left lung. It explains why the fever is back with a vengeance and why I am suddenly so weak again.

The drugs are good. They keep me mostly knocked out. [I am posting this after the fact, but I mostly wrote it at the time—explains the disorganization and ramble, huh? No really? My normal style? Oh.]

Friday’s Feast

Appetizer: What is your middle name? Would you change any of your names if you could? If so, what would you like to be called?
I have two middle names: Lee and Anton. I think that having four names has always given me enough name flexibility that I never felt the need to change them. All four have a tradition of sorts. I sometimes write under a pseudonym, but that is primarily a marketing tool. A writer’s name is a brand. I publish nonfiction under my legal name; for fiction, I use my initials.
Soup: If you were a fashion designer, which fabrics, colors, and styles would you probably use the most?
Cottons and other natural fabrics. Whites, blacks, and primary colors. Simple designs, peasant shirts and the like.
Salad: What is your least favorite chore, and why?
Sorting socks. It is simply tedious. There are too many minute variations, too many ways to get it wrong. The socks never pair up 100%, so there are always leftovers, stragglers cluttering up the clean clothes or falling back unused into the laundry.
Main Course: What is something that really frightens you, and can you trace it back to an event in your life?
Financial ruin. I have never experienced it first-hand. When I was young and came close, my parents and circumstances softened the landing. Now days, I realize I am working without a net. What is new is that I am worried about not having a net. Before there was always time to recover.
Dessert: Where are you sitting right now? Name 3 things you can see at this moment.
I am in the bedroom, propped up on a bolster so that I can breathe. Three things that I can see:
  1. My sickly reflection in the mirror
  2. The top of the oak tree outside the bedroom window
  3. Socks waiting patiently to be sorted

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