Sunday, 31 January 2010
My companion lies listless amongst her books. One of them, Sontag’s “Illness as a Metaphor” reads: ‘TB is disintegration, febrilization, dematerialization; it is a disease of liquids – the body turning to phlegm and mucus and sputum and, finally, blood….’
At a local hostelry I had a photograph taken of my sideburns.
Sunday, 31 January 2010 8am
It is day six. My companion, who seemed to have made a good recovery is today quite drained. Her symptoms include a languid weakness and constantly running nose. I myself am no better and find the only activity I can find the strength for is writing this journal. The only part of me that has vigour is my left sideburn which grows in inversely proportionate vigour to my torpor. It has now reached out beyond my ears. I am not sure whether to let it go on, or like a treasured rose bush prune it hard to encourage vigour. Thankfully my reveries have just been interrupted by a cacophonous banging in the street, it sounds like my peccant neighbour has returned!
Saturday, 30 January 2010
Northern Landscape The fifth day of my illness has been characterised by a feeling of agoraphobia. I sit alone in my flat eyes shifting nervously as I listen to the mumblings of my neighbours and cars passing outside. Earlier I attempted a visit to my studio but found the walk across town intolerable and exhausting. Symptoms included a shaking in my legs a bubbling feeling in my chest and sudden urge to cry. I could go no further. My companion was most concerned but I urged her to carry on as she had errands to perform. Now in closing silence I await her return.
