I'm in a silly mood because I'm used to being isolated for health reasons. I grew up with severe childhood asthma. I spent many afternoons of my adolescence hooked up to oxygen tanks...waiting to breathe. It seems like half of my childhood was spent battling infections, flus, terrible fevers, and a variety of exotic diseases my body seemed to welcome. More oxygen takes, inhalers, silent treatments in isolations. During those times I would go into my head, recalling old shows, bits of trivia, soap operas, sitcoms... replaying my favorite scenes from THE COSBY SHOW or THE YOUNG AND THE RESTLESS. Then I would rewrite the scenes, trying out different punchlines, new plot twists, making myself laugh or gasp in surprise as an audience of one ...anything to keep myself entertained and to not think about all the games kids were playing outside. Some times a nurse or another parent would see me and go 'oh you poor thing...oh it's so sad...kids are so precious.' And I would think between wheezing breaths '...fuck...off.' I hate the pity and roll my eyes at panic. It is my default b/c this is the way I grew up. It is the modus operandi of the sickly child to be more creative, to have a richer inner monologue and internal life.
The sickly child is like a fungus that can become a societal poison or a potion. We mushrooms grow in the dark, wet, ferment of disappointment, disease, ailments, and struggle. As cruel as it may be for us during our youthful years, we tend to be the easiest to adapt and most level-headed people. We are keenly aware of our mortality, we have thought about death, contemplated what it means to not exist because of an errant cough, or a vicious bacteria. Isolation, death, creativity are all apart of the same branch of life. And so I sit in this hotel room again...thinking about life and feeling both ridiculous and light. I'm silly but that doesn't mean I can't take things seriously. Hope you are safe and sound and socially distanced!
The sickly child is like a fungus that can become a societal poison or a potion. We mushrooms grow in the dark, wet, ferment of disappointment, disease, ailments, and struggle. As cruel as it may be for us during our youthful years, we tend to be the easiest to adapt and most level-headed people. We are keenly aware of our mortality, we have thought about death, contemplated what it means to not exist because of an errant cough, or a vicious bacteria. Isolation, death, creativity are all apart of the same branch of life. And so I sit in this hotel room again...thinking about life and feeling both ridiculous and light. I'm silly but that doesn't mean I can't take things seriously. Hope you are safe and sound and socially distanced!
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