Another Day In

JJill used to sell a shirt they called the Artisan Shirt. It's made of light denim and is styled sort of like a nehru jacket with that kind of collar and covered buttons. It's full and comfortable, though, instead of being fitted, and the best part is, you don't have to hold your stomach in when you wear it.

I'm wearing that shirt today, although I'm calling it the Convalescing Shirt. With the sleeves rolled up, it's like I'm getting down to business, but I'm really just fighting this traveling flu. I'm calling it the traveling flu because it moves from body part to body part—throat, lungs, sinuses. First a fever, then not a fever, then a fever again. Last night I could barely breathe because every breath sounded like a rain stick with rattling and wheezing, and my nose was stopped up, and I felt like I needed a sauna. So, I moved into the guest room, which is the smallest room in the house apart from the laundry room, and I set up the vaporizer. I shut myself in there and breathed in the moist air until my sinuses opened up, and I could sleep.

And, boy, did I sleep. I also dreamed. I dreamed my orchestra was invited to give a concert in London, and I was asked to participate. My family was planning on being there that week anyway, so of course, I said yes. I showed up at the first rehearsal only to find I had completely misunderstood—it wasn't a full orchestra concert but a 16-piece horn ensemble, and the other horn players from my group had backed out at the last minute. I hadn't had a chance to look over the music and had to just take my seat, the last one, and sight-read with these tuxedoed professionals from The London Symphony in the front row turning around to look at me with absolute disdain. Fortunately, I woke up before I had to play a single note and prove once and for all I had no business being there.

Even though I'm wearing this so-called artisan shirt, I will probably not create any art today, but you never know. During each day this week, I have painted something with watercolors, and even though I enjoyed every minute of the process, the results will just have to be chalked up as a learning experience—how not to paint. On second thought, maybe I should paint a picture of this shirt, or myself wearing it while struggling to play impossible music with people all dressed for a concert in London. I could call it The Traveling Convalescent. Darn my fevered brain.