This is a poem that I wrote ages ago. I was home sick- much like today -and wanted to express the gloominess of my situation. However, there are some contradictions to my current feelings. One being that I love nothing more for it to rain when I'm sick. Then I can curl up with a good book and some hot tea and read and read and read.
I suppose that at the time I wrote this (in 2003), I had been sick for so long that no matter what kind of day it was outside, I refused to be happy about it. And so it goes...
At Home with the Flu
It's just one of those days,
those sick days.
Where the sun woke up and decided not to shine
and the blue sky was overtaken by the huge grey masses.
Yeah, one of those days.
Where the rain that beats down on the roof
of my car mocks me saying,
"At least, I can play outside."
And the lightning, in reply, lets out a bellowing
laughter that causes my house to shake
to remind me of its authority.
But I sit inside and I cough and sneeze
and hide in my blankets where it's cozy.
With all my might I clench a fist
and shake it at the window,
"You just wait, you grouchy ol' storm
'til the sun comes out and the air is warm.
He'll dry you up from top to bottom
and that will be the end of you."
Can't be sure if they heard me or not,
but at least it made me feel better.