Still home from school.

When I was a child, I couldn't fake being sick.  My mother would know when I was truly ill by the fact that I wouldn't obsessively play my piano.

Not much different than being able to tell an animal is sick by it's not eating.

As soon as the urge to play every single one of those 88 keys would take over, I would hear, "Alright!  You're going back to school!"  My mother would say it with glee in anticipation of getting rid of one of the brats.  It always felt like an insult or punishment.

I don't have my piano obsession like I used to, I'm more obsessed with composing, being a performer and how I do on stage.  Besides, my dear piano is in some warehouse being babied with the right temperature and perfect humidity, while they put our house back together from the sewage flood.

But I do have my letters to 'you', my imaginary friend.  They seem to have been a great compulsion every morning.  Something to keep the border collie in me occupied.

However, I was too sick to put more than a couple of words together these past few days.  My only typing was to the Coffee Shop Forum.  Even then, I mostly only read and giggled.  It was distraction during the moments I was awake and/or coherent.

Well, here I am.  I've managed to muster enough energy to make my morning routine breakfast and coffee and have a chat with 'you'.

I still can't really taste the coffee, but I feel my body likes it.  This will probably be the only thing I accomplish today.

May you be so lucky that you don't have to go through this flu.  It's a doozy!

What's a doozy?

Anyway, it's unfortunate that my 3 days in bed with Papi, who also has this flu (my love shared it with me, nice eh?), was spent coughing, blowing our noses, passing the cold remedies to each other and having the back and forth conversation of, "I'm so fucking hot," and, "Oh?  I'm freezing."

I would check the thermostat to make sure neither of us were having genuine temperature reactions to a heater gone wrong.

Sometimes, it was like there was a washroom game.  The person who got up to pee out all the toxins was responsible for getting supplies before coming to lie down again.

"Ok.  I'm up.  Anything you need?"

It would have been nice to have these 3 days of Papi time as quality, not quantity.  Alas, we suffered together.

Mi esposo was cranky and I was needy (which makes for a bad combination), but we were together.

Papi told me that there were some reading of my blogs as an occupier of my love's time.

I was informed that me being the boss in my bed was not going to happen.

We'll have to see when things get healthier around here.  There could be a power struggle.

Oooooh, that might be fun!

Right now, I'm only able to write a few words.  The thought of sex or dealing with strife around my love's male transformation is too much to think about while my head is being overrun by mucus.

I'm not well enough to go frolic in the playground.

I still need a few days before I can focus on my lessons of loving my transgendered person.