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viral malaise
Monday, March 29 1999
Kim called me in a panic while I was at work today. She'd just accused a poor Czech immigrant cashier woman of stealing money from a purse left in her care, and was wondering if perhaps the money was with me. It was. I'd discovered the wad of bills, Kim's massage tip money, when I reached into my pocket to pay for my lunchtime Kung-Pow Chicken at Pick Up Sticks in Mission Valley.
All day I felt frustrated with my work. It wasn't giving me any satisfaction or pleasure, things I've come to expect. And when I got home I didn't think my writing was any good either. The world sucked for some reason and I just wanted to go to bed. I didn't know it at the time, but I was getting sick. Viruses were multiplying and dividing in my body, infiltrating my cells and subverting their machinery to manufacture more viruses. I was only catching a cold, but the subtle effects of the disease on my emotions and mentality had completely ruined my ability to enjoy the day.
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