Shipwrecked & Comatose

Earlier this month I was looking out the window at the beautiful spring day outside and I said to Kevin, "Exactly thirty-five years ago this week I was in Italy for the first time." He said, "And...?" And nothing.  There was no purpose to my saying that.  It was only a statement of longing.  There was a time when I could travel across oceans and enjoy a beautiful spring day in my favorite foreign country. Then I thought about other jaunts I took during the month of April.  Two years ago we went to Maui.  Three years ago we went to Amsterdam.  I remembered what it was like to stare out the window of my hotel room at the Hoxton, looking through the budding trees to the canal below.  I thought of snorkeling at Molokini Crater and how beautiful it was beneath the surface of the water that I wanted to grow gills and stay there.  All of it is in the past. If I didn't feel bad enough, last night after watching the news and scrolling through his Facebook feed, K

I have always considered myself to be a healthy person. Some of that is smug self-righteousness.  I practice strong health habits.  I don't like to let a day go by without getting some form of exercise.  I have never smoked.  I eat my daily dose of fruits and vegetables. I drink limited amounts of caffeine and alcohol and water is my main beverage.  I floss.  I don't deliberately tan. A healthy lifestyle is helpful, but it isn't a guarantee against all illness.  Regardless of whether it's related to my good habits, I seem to do well in the health category.  It's true I have a wonky respiratory system (I sneeze at 100 decibels, I can't blow my nose like a lady, I react violently to strong irritants, and when I catch a cold, my life stops) and my joints are a bit injury-prone, but serious illness never seems to touch me.  I stay healthy when everyone around me is sick. (A few weeks ago I joked I would meet the "Corona" virus with a wedge of lime.)  M