Sun, fresh air and avoidance of anything newspaper-related didn't work. So here we have come to The Sick Day which, while wise and mature and self-loving in all the best ways, just makes me feel like a pathetic, weak-willed sloven-type person who would get kicked out of the tribe for failing to hold up my end of our survival. I'm laying in bed coughing and reading and drinking coffee with all the shades drawn because it's ugly outside and I don't feel like seeing the Smoking Man out on his porch. If I ever disappear without warning, check the Smoking Man's apartment first. I'll be the body that's shoved up into the air vent.
I suppose I should be drinking something herbal and more like tea but tea makes me think of grass which makes me think of horses. I am not a horse. Coffee, meanwhile, makes me think of edgy intellectuals sitting around being Communists and writing Russian novels and caring about things passionately and with great ignorance a couple years before falling into corrupt bureaucracy and killing everyone they shouldn't and creating rulers out of those they should kill. It also makes me think of "Coffee and Cigarettes" which makes me remember how much I love divey breakfast diners and Jack White.
But man, Jack White. I have written of him previously. How can you not adore/idolize/sinfully erect pagan alters to him? You're welcome:
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