A journalist observes life in the far north.
I have the flu. Or maybe it’s a cold. Or maybe I have both the flu and a cold at the same time. All I know is that I can barely hold my head upright without feeling woozy. The coffee table is full of crumpled-up tissues. It’s almost 2pm and I am still in my bathrobe. I called in sick to work last Friday, but I haven’t figured out how to call in sick to Lucky, who is sick too. This baby is the most cheerful sick person I know. I suspect she doesn’t know that she is sick. I envy that. I think I am going to pull the covers back over my head and continue contemplating what awful thing I may have done to deserve this illness.