Emergent Occasions

[steepholm]

I've been ill for the past week, which is highly unusual for me. Because I'm not used to it, I spent much of my time in febrile self-diagnosis. For the record, at various points I was convinced that I was dying of:

a) Crohn's disease
b) tuberculosis
c) a cumulative series of "micro-strokes"
d) ergot poisoning
e) male pattern baldness

None of the above seems to be true, I'm glad to report, at least to a fatal degree. I have however lost four pounds, and my appetite's still not back, which is worrying, what with teaching starting again tomorrow.

Oh, and of course when I knew I was dying I found myself morbidly dwelling on the utter uselessness-or-at-least-transience of my life, a theme illustrated by the following lines of Gerard Manley H, which repeatedly crashed round my head without permission:

How far from then forethought of, all thy more boisterous years,
When thou at the random grim forge, powerful amidst peers,
Didst fettle for the great grey dray-horse his bright and battering sandal!

Comments

[steepholm.livejournal.com]

Absolutely. I was only ill a week, and I was already gibbering.