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I feel like I'm finally starting to pull through. I see the light at the end of the tunnel and it's not the heavens welcoming me to the other side. In hindsight, perhaps refusing to wear a jacket, pants, or even carry an umbrella during a rain storm was a bad idea--but in the interest of full disclosure, I was getting sick before the weather decided to be uncooperative.

I felt like crap last night and crap this morning, but right now I'm actually feeling pretty good. It's been a few hours since I coughed up anything that resembles a creature from a 1950s sci-fi movie. I can actually kinda breathe now. I don't feel like I'm gonna freeze to death every time I venture away from my space heater. Yeap, I hate to disappoint you, but it looks like I'm gonna live.

When you're ill and bed-ridden, you don't realize how little you care about minor maintenance. Now that I've got a clearer head, I look around my place and The Fortress is a ruddy mess. Clutter is everywhere and I've got so many crusty tissues they look like knickknacks. Man, I really don't wanna get to cleaning because there's a lot of it to do and I'm really lazy.

But I learned something interesting about myself during my battle with death. Even though I've got a great big bed (fully equipped with Star Wars bed sheets), for some reason I find solace in sleeping on the floor. Granted, this week's illness made the floor more appealing because of its close proximity to my space heater (four inches)--but that's not the only time I've slept on the floor. Even prior to my illness, I've find myself opting to sleep on the floor instead of my bed. I'd say two or three times a week, I set up camp on my floor and fall asleep there. It's not a case of me falling asleep on the floor with the TV on--this is me actually choosing to sleep on the floor. In fact, some nights I tried going to sleep in my bed but found myself hoping out of bed and heading for the floor.

It really doesn't make any sense. My bed is about six months old and still fully functional. It's not lumpy nor does it have springs poking out of it. And did I mention it has Star Wars bed sheets? The bed is fine--there's absolutely nothing wrong with it.

Yet I find the floor soothing. I don't know why. It's not like I grew up in a third world country and am accustomed to sleeping on dirt. About a year ago I had an air mattress that popped on me and it took me two months to find a replacement (during which I slept on the deflated air mattress), but it's not like I preferred it (I was just too cheap to buy a new bed).

Maybe there's nothing wrong with. Maybe it's just another reason I need therapy. Who knows?

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2006