Temperatures

I found this painting by Francis Bacon this morning. A few days ago I was hurting my head trying to remember his name, the painter who painted such horrific stuff. I have been having nightmares again, really dark ones that remind me of this art...smeared faces, morbid colors and an unfinished look. I like this one but it isn't my favorite. I read his name this morning paired with Burroughs and thought, How perfect that they ran in the same chronology. Though I saw a picture of them walking together, I do not know if they were friends.*This morning I woke up with a tight throat. I spent the greater portion of All Night tossing around, sweating, kicking the comforter and dreaming about the Importance of Something...though I cannot remember of What. Last night Craig and I had gone to the mall, and I wonder if someone with a sick bug hadn't just crossed a path I crossed in that huge public place and left the sick bug there for me to catch. But today I am drinking plenty of water (and only one coffee earlier this morning) to flush the tight throat feeling out. Last night something else happened that makes me smile even yet this morning: Craig and I were watching the new Jason Lee sitcom, and we both fell asleep without knowing the other was asleep and missed the very end. I was drifting and it would have been safe to assume so was he, seeing as he adores naps so, but I was too oblivious to notice. Then, when we woke and moved our sleepy selves into bed, I commented about him splashing around in the bathroom, which still makes me smile at the thought, and he commented that every night with me is like a slumber party (smiling over that also). He is right about that. This morning I woke up to cook pasta for his lunch today because in the fridge we had leftover spaghetti sauce but no pasta. Even with my tight throat I could still smell the full thick air of pasta, and it reminded me that my sense of smell is extra sensitive in the mornings. I can smell the soap on his skin out of the shower, the detergent in a clean shirt, and even the light sleep smell left in the air after we've been awake for a while. Then I get to work and make the coffee, and can detect if I have made it too strong by smell alone. Regardless, this morning I think I was running a fever. I stuck a thermometer in my mouth after Craig left for work and the digital numbers clocked me at 99.1, which is really not that bad. But I still feel a little weak. Ideally it will work itself right out because tonight is Vince Vaughn at the Tabernacle and we have 5th row seats! And tomorrow is my last day at work for the week, and we must do laundry and pack...and Friday we get to sleep in, just a little. So much traveling this month. October will be quieter. Craig has another trip to AZ, for work this time, mid-October, and that night AB is going to come to Vinings to keep me company. She will have just returned from the Bahamas with her husband so she'll be pink and tan.*One other thing I wanted to mention about temperature, not so much the temperature down south but the climate of the north in the fall, is the cool crisp air. I missed it a lot this morning. I was reviewing some old St. Louis pictures from the winter of '04 and recalling how fresh cold air is when it hits your nose and skin. Fall and winter run right into each other and though there is a remote distinction between the two seasons, the air is similar...akin to the color blue, if blue had a scent. Not just because of the temperature of blue but because of its depth and the way that cool air bites. If I were in it, if the fall had arrived upon me and my nose were red and running, I might be complaining about it...but without it, in the 80-something degree temps in Atlanta in October, I miss the fall. That air is what Craig would call "perfect football weather." And he's right about that, too.