Love in the Time of Mononucleosis

I'd meant to write earlier about the edifying fun I had last weekend traveling to, in, and from Milwaukee. But I never got around to it; sitting down and composing a blog entry seemed like just too much work. In fact, everything seemed like too much work, including work. On Wednesday I went to see the doctor for a sore throat that wouldn't go away, and on Thursday I got the news that I have mononucleosis. So I no longer feel quite so guilty for not having the energy to do, well, hardly anything. Since then I've been sleeping like it's going out of style and loading up on fruits, veggies, and immune-boosting supplements. It suddenly feels like I have about ten mothers, since everyone's been telling me to take it easy, except for my actual mother, but that's just because I haven't told her about the mono yet, knowing she'll freak out more than all my pseudo-moms combined. She says it's her job.

Well, I've been trying to take it easy as everyone's been recommending, but a small part of me - curiously, one I inherited from my mother - still feels guilty about being so inactive. So here I am, blogging when I should be getting ready for bed (yes, it's about 8 PM). I'll make it brief.


Really, all I really wanted to comment upon was how the wonderfulness of the weekend - eating dinner with Milwaukee friends Friday night, lazing around and then partying at the wedding with more friends, including ones I'd not spent significant amounts of time with in years, breakfast with friends AND family Sunday morning, and finally a 6-hour drive chock full of delightful conversation with my carpool buddies (we talked about the origins of the silk industry, the history of religion, and so many other things) - all of these things sort of melted together into a broad flow of satisfaction that it's rare to experience. Nearing the end of the trip home, I felt the need simply to sit back and let these things run through me, as if I were only a vessel or a vehicle through which the best stuff of the universe pours. I don't know where it goes when it overflows; I just know that at times like this I feel rich and loved and thankful. It's people, the people I know, and the things we share between us that bring out these feelings in me. I just wanted to write it down in order not to forget. Times like that are anchors.

Of course, it could have been the mono-riffic fatigue rearing its head. If so, hey, at least there's some benefit to this virus.