So I’ve been sick and feverish and both weird and wierd and watching a lot of daytime TV. Anything to make the time pass. Reality show knock-offs on obscure cable channels. “So You Think You Can Stand,” for example. I have so shame.
So I fell in love all over again with Aaron Sorkin’s “West Wing.” Jeez, what a good show. Sharp writing, camera movement like Robert Altman’s, rapid fire dialogue. Watching it always made me feel better. And its excellence served to remind me that a couple of things I was working on were just crap. Maybe fever burns away the delusionary bullshit that is usually made palatable by nine-year old bourbon?
Illness is not always a bad thing. Alternative doctors especially say, “Well, your body just needed some time away from whatever has been bothering it.” Could be true. And one of my favorite novels — “The Moviegoer” — was written by a young medical student who contracted TB before he could start a practice. As he recovered, he started to write, something he was clearly meant to do, anyway.
I tried, by the way, to keep up with the sonnet-a-day assignment but couldn’t after “fever” rhymed with “Leave It to Beaver” and then with “cleaver.” I really didn’t like the direction that was going.