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Thursday, August 23, 2018

Slowly I Turned

Managed to get out of the house a couple of times today as my zombification from the flu slowly recedes. Exhausting still, but better than lying in bed all day or otherwise staring at the rather uninteresting walls in my house. Perhaps I should decorate a bit in order to provide myself with something more interesting to stare at next time I'm down with the flu? Nah.

So, I had to go down to Sanur this morning anyway to pay my electric bill--God forbid I should be without the AC and feverish at the same time--and took that opportunity to stroll shortly on the beach. Good just to be out among the living with my feet in the sand and the breeze in my hair and the sun baking my skin to a bubbly crisp (though it was slightly less searing today than, say, a cigarette lighter--one of those old fashioned sorts that they used to have in cars). Met a dog down there with a particularly pleasant disposition, who decided to sit with me in the shade for a spell. I didn't catch his name. 

Collapsed for a time upon returning home, but then later in the afternoon was inspired, perhaps by delirium, to go for another walk, this time down to the neighborhood store, and then to pick up my laundry on the way back. This was a bit more challenging and less pleasant than the earlier morning walk, as of course the city streets are much hotter than the open beach. But it was necessary, I felt, to purchase a new package of cheap chicken sausages for the big fat brown dog, as she would certainly be upset, upon her next visit, to find that I had neglected to keep her in supply. 

At the store, I also bought a little bottle of super-vitamin-C drink--one of those pointless, completely superfluous things that come, nonetheless, with a psychological boost--and found a little spot in the shade where I could quaff the thing. 

Now here's something that does not happen in America, folks. As I sat on my little stone with my drink, two different vehicles slowed as they passed by just so that the driver could eagerly wave his hand out the window and sing out "Hello, Mister!" It's a common enough thing here, but I just never get used to it. In America, one will generally be ignored. That's the best scenario. Alternately, someone in a passing car might shout a curse, or even throw something. But 'Hello, Mister'? No. It just doesn't happen. 

Anyway, I've topped this whole dezombification venture off with a coffee at my favorite spot in Renon, and I'm feeling about 50 percent more alive than I felt yesterday. At this rate, I should be well (or at least in my customary state of poor health) by the time September lurches over the horizon. 

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