to himself

“No, you do not have thousands of years to live. Urgency is on you. While you live, while you can, become good.” – Marcus Aurelius

Everyone around me is sick. I’ve been saying little prayers all week that my house be spared, but earlier tonight The Euro started breaking out in cold sweats. We were at a beautiful winter wedding full of candle light and some serious smoked salmon when I had to sit him down and actually ask: “Shall I wipe your brow?” Because, daft or not, that’s how we speak to each other.

I brought him home. Offered him some hot tea and paracetamol, which he refused – he doesn’t trust OTCs – and left him laying limp and feverish on the sofa trying his best to shoot some sort of alien with one eye closed and a temperature of 101.

I slept fifteen hours straight yesterday. STRAIGHT. And I can’t sleep tonight. I’ve just filled a hot bath with Elemis. I’ll be drinking the rest of the red and reading from the meditations of Marcus Aurelius – a Christmas gift from The Euro – properly titled “To Himself” – until I feel like hitting the hay. Reading does relax.