I can only think of two or three times in recent years when I sent to bed, and went and stayed there, it looks like today is one of them. My wife is small but part Sicilian, tough and fearsome when aroused, and to be honest, I’m not putting up too much of a fight. I’m close to finishing Donna Tartt’s “Goldfinch,” which I will review and wading into the new book by Gabriel Sherman on Roger Ailes, the brilliant,  controversial and very angry genius behind Fox News. I’ll review that too.

But I just need to rest, this stomach stuff is making its way through my body, I can feel it, and sometimes you just have to surrender to life in order to return to it. My body has made it quite clear I am not going to get up and walk around today.

Lying in bed all day is close to despair for me, it triggers a feeling of helplessness and worthlessness that comes from somewhere deep inside of me, I see it as a letting go, a kind of spiritual and creative decay. I just cannot find a reasonable way not to hate it. Maria and I always do the chores together, I can hardly abide her tromping around in the cold while I’m lying on my butt with a book and some tea, but she can handle things quite competently, it is my problem, not hers.

Writing is like breathing to me, I simply have to do it, and it is not a difficult thing for me and Red to come to the study and work together, it keeps me from going mad. It is work for Red just as much as sheep is work, he rushes into the office behind me, lies down right underneath the desk, is utterly still while I clank on the keyboard, when I am done, he will rush upstairs and if it is daytime, I will let him up on the bed where he will curl up and be still.

When Maria goes out to feed the animals, he hears her put on her boots and rushes to the door to move the sheep around. He just loves all work, he sometimes helps to define mine. How fortunate I am to have the people and animals in my life around me.

When I am lying in bed, of course, I sometimes succumb to the idea that I am just losing strength and steam, getting older, not fighting off the things I used to fight off in days or ignore. Getting up and doing things is an affirmation of life, it can also be a neurotic disorder. People get sick, they rest and get well, as a rule. Another kind of affirmation.

So today I’ll post some bedroom chronicles, sneak down to work on a chapter of the Simon book, run out to take a photo of the descending cold. And finish my book maybe. Last night I decided to accept my body, the way I am, the way I look, the way it feels. If I can do that from bed, it will be more than worthwhile.