I am still on the boat in Finike.
Several of you have commented that I seemed to have dropped out of sight, both visually in the Marina, and in being even slower than usual to answer email. The reason is that, somewhere around 4 February, I came down with a creeping crud that is traveling around the Marina. I became cloistered, at first, and the hopes of not spreading it. But quickly it changed to being because it was just too much trouble to go outside.
Was it a cold? Was it a flu? Bronchitis?
I don’t really know, but it got really, really old in a hurry. For me, I think the worst part was that my lungs just kind of filled up with a thick mucus that was very hard to get out by coughing. I know, because I did an unbelievable amount of coughing for 47 eternities. It seemed to go on, and on, and on. Kind of like Chinese water torture.
It was good that the boats on either side of me are not inhabited. My coughing would’ve driven them crazy. It certainly did me.
Maybe this is why bats sleep hanging upside down. I considered it.
As many of you know, Janet’s father had tuberculosis when he was about 20 years old. There was a huge outbreak of it at that time and the doctors triaged him into the group that they just sent home to die. However, he fooled them, and even though it took about three years or more, and he got over it.
As I recall the story, for the rest of his life he donated to the American Long Association (http://www.lung.org/). And, I think he said that their motto for many years was, “When you can’t breathe, nothing else matters.”
When my lungs filled up with mucus and it was getting harder and harder to breathe, I often thought about that.
But, all that mucus talk is probably more information than you wanted to hear. I’m feeling almost good now. A huge improvement over a week ago. I wish the improvement were faster, but the curve is definitely getting towards the good zone.
Mark Twain once wrote about a lady whose health was failing and who had no bad habits like drinking or smoking to give up. There she was, quipped Twain, a foundering ship with no ballast to throw overboard to lighten the load.
In my time of need, the ballast that I threw over, was what little productive work I had been accomplishing. Like answering emails or doing boat projects. I got really decadent and slept a lot, but mostly read eBooks.
I’m gradually trying to incorporate more useful projects into my daily workload. But I’m certainly far from hyperactive. I think, “Diminished Capacity,” is probably a good term.
Little by little.