Notes on the Grippe

Being an accounting of the recent and continuing pandemic and its various circumstances, from the perspective of an inhabitant of the regions lately called the Lost Quarter. Dates unknown.

Day One Hundred Fifty Four

As if mocking my claims yesterday that the nights are getting cooler despite the heat, last evening refused to cool off at all. It was still 25 degrees at eleven, the air heavy and stifling. Our bedroom is, unfortunately the warmest room in the house and retreating there to bed was the last thing either of us wanted to do.

I was restless most of the night, struggling to ease into sleep and unable to stay that way for long once I did. The heat ebbed and flowed and my dreams and thoughts blended together, as I passed from sleeping to waking and back again, flitting in and out of my mind, never staying long enough to take hold.

Morning when I walked my love to work in her tower was cool, a relief after such a night. I started off sluggish and distracted, but by the time I returned home, I felt more myself. Now I sit at my correspondences, dutiful as always, sipping another cup of coffee trying to ignore the edge of exhaustion that surrounds me.

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