Ok, it might seem like I'm in a posting madness, but I haven't been able to access the net, so these are from the last two weeks. Here's another:

Colder air, grey skies. The only remnants of summer are the sunsets. I'm about to get sick - I can feel it in the back of my throat and the disconcerting, fragmented way I wake up. I was thinking about sickness, how it shrinks your world, compresses it and forces you to live through your body. Me, I spend a lot of time in my head, thinking, feeling, and I don't come down to visit my body much. Sickness is an imposed return home - the testing out of bodily sensations, quantifying my body from day to day, collecting and comparing symptoms, testing muscles, trusting drugs and my white cells. It's good in one way - it grounds me - but utterly boring in another. The body is so limited. Like the mind, it has needs and methods of expression, but the body is crude in its requirements - hunger, thirst, illness are all generic reactions. I hate trying to describe a pain to a doctor - sharp, stabbing? just to the right of my kidneys? I've got no idea. It hurts somewhere right now and I want it to stop.