Jan. 3, 1978
Caroline and I are sick with colds and coughs. We feel pursed by demons. We ward them off with puzzles and colored dinosaurs.
Jan. 4 -
We are still sick and miserable , oppressed by bacteria.
Jan. 9 - We live in a shell of glowing ice. The sun lights the windows like mother of pearl in candlelight. But it isn't the ice on the windows that keeps us here - it's the ice in the wind.
Jan. 15 - Post-nasal drip has all the misery of polio and poison ivy. You aren't sick so you can't go to bed and you are sick and can't function. It's purgatory on earth.
Jan. 17 - Getting better. Am now set up intellectually speaking for 1978. There won't be much more time for coloring dinosaurs.
I think the way to treat the flu is to find a cache of Agatha Christie's I haven't read and go to bed with them and a bottle of wild grape wine, while some kind soul brings in 2 slices of quiche lorraine and fresh spinach and ice water or orange juice ever (sic) 4 hours. I haven't done any of the above.
