Happy Fourth of July. Why do I get sick every holiday weekend?

Last night I had three beers and some pizza. I figured I earned some shitty food after working out so intensely over the past six weeks. You know, moderation and all that. So, and I’m unsure if the condition was connection to beer and/or pizza, but I woke at one or so with the worst stomach pains imaginable. I showered, took drugs, etc. and finally fell back asleep near four. You know when you’re too sick to do much but recline in bed and wish you were dead? That’s how I felt between one and four. And more than my stomach hurt. Allergies attacked my head and my left wrist felt numb. I have no idea what the fuck was wrong with me. Oh, I forgot my back. My back hurt terribly, and I could identify exactly where in my lower vertebrae the pain originated. That fucking hurt. I finally fell asleep around four and woke near 10:30. Now, remember, I’m usually up near four, so 10:30 is half of my day. I woke, drank about a gallon of iced tea, ate a little, and settled on the couch. Most of the day passed with the Brewers kicking the hell out of the Cubs and a few detours to the History Channel for Revolutionary War history and CMT for my ongoing study on country music, by far the weirdest type of music I’ve ever encountered. M and the boys were at the parade/town celebration with friends then took in Ice Age 3 with the same group of friends. They’re back now, watching Zooboomafoo. Well, N is watching Zooboomafoo. He’s on the couch next to me. I don’t know where everyone else could be.

I’m grinding my teeth. A poem is emerging. But I can’t remember things. What’s wrong with me? At least today was schedule free day. I hadn’t planned on working out or addressing paperwork. Maybe that’s why I get sick. Maybe I don’t take enough days off. Maybe I push too hard when I’m at the gym and office. I’m good for four or five hours in the latter and then I collapse. As to the former I lift and run even when I’m tired. Maybe my body is trying to tell me something. Maybe this is another dissonance from which I should learn but rarely do.

Good night. The poem involves bats at sunrise and the worst kinds of weightlessness.