Solitary confrontation

I've been down with a bad cold, I'm pretty sure it didn't have a name of its own.

You want your colds and your flu to be nameless.  That's the best kind, a facelessness in the crowd.  Give me a disease so generic as to be anonymous. Interaction  intense but over quickly, something like sharing a car crash or a blackout -- you remember some of them forever, but you don't know their name.  Because it never was going to kill you?  Because there are so many of them it's not worth finding out.  

Been too sick to do anything but sleep and watch back to back episodes of In Treatment.  A strange mind of state.  Hazy, grotesque, yet still kind of cute, I storm my mumble through the dark thick night.  Outdoors more of the same, trees goopy with pummeled new leaves and a pummeling rain.  

Who is that in the corner kissing company?  Misery.  And she's in love.

The image above is an edible painting made entirely of onions and beans.  It is the image of Athena demanding answers, and receiving if not answers, then at least a little lemon for the sugar water they serve around here.   Wordy, your mother.