I have hardly moved today.
I have not been sick in ages. I take great pride in my immune system, and when it is compromised, I feel both sick from the illness, and vaguely ashamed that I have allowed myself to become ill. I have coughed so often and so hard today that the back of my head aches from the tension.
I spent the first half of the day wrapped up in my down comforter on the couch. Then a friend calls and says she's going to come over, so sadly, I had to put on actual clothes. Well, pajamas, but I feel that those count as clothing, especially as I wore them across the street to the deli later in the day. Then I had to put on real clothes that I'm not embarrassed to be seen outside in, so I could talk to my local neighborhood bartender about a counter-protest he is organizing for March 9th.
Counter-protest skinny: The "Reverend" Fred Phelps, everyone's favorite hatemonger, (see www.godhatesfags.com for reference) will be staging a protest in NYC that day. Apparently, he as it all figured out -- the New York Fire Department's policy on gays and lesbians (or, their "fag cesspool," as Freddie calls it) is partly responsible for what happened here in September. God is punishing "Fag New York" and "Fag America." Why anybody would think to protest the universally admired FDNY at this point in time is beyond me, but protest he shall. And I shall be a member of the counter-demonstration. I'm nervous and excited at the same time.
I find it interesting that I still have to be vague and say things like "What happened here in September." I can not quite bring myself to use words any more concrete than these, for fear of dealing with all of those emotions all over again.