Golden note

All I want is to be still, close my eyes, and wait patiently while you do what you want to my body.

My head rings, my limbs are heavy, my face glows, my lips are parched, my throat is full of gummy catarrh and I feel chilly, but when I sit or recline, the space my mind goes to is special.

Not a place of vigorous thought, nor a place of insight, it seems to balance on a single note running through whatever comes to mind. I'm ready to be roused from it anytime--just speak to me--but what I want is to sink into that monophonic mental state, and cruise.

I don't know what kind of virus you are, perhaps something between a cold and a flu, the symptoms are ambiguous, yesterday the one, today the other. I do know many of the things I feel are what civilian bystanders experience when their houses and streets are a battle field, my immune system against a host of you buccaneer molecules turning my cells into nurseries for your own opportunistic spawn.

Meanwhile, my consciousness sets sail on that golden note. I'm swept past all the people talking and walking by. Minutes pass like seconds. Ideas
arise and fall away. I crack open my eyes. Where am I? Still here? Ah, easeful, easeful, like falling asleep but infinitely prolonged, that twilight, afterglow in the horizon and one or two lights blinking on the gloaming...

Health is so much preferable, and I've got so much to do, but since I'm here, I'll appreciate what I can. Save what I've written, close the computer, weigh anchor, and I'm off.