I read a lot about the physical issues with illnesses like Covid, but not enough about the emotional kickback. Last night, the demons, spirits, and devils dame to me in my fever; I called it the Devil’s Dance.

It was a night out of Edgar Allen Poe; fears, treacheries, failures, disappointments, sins and mistakes, cruelties and lies all came boiling up and danced in my heat while I sweated and squirmed.

Maria is sleeping on the couch next to me so I can be close to the bathroom, and I fear I kept her up for much of the night with my terrors, panics, and awful memories.

It was as if every bad thing I had ever done or was done to me ran through my mind like a video from the dark side. I pictured the devils dancing by the fire, and I was tied up at stake.

The mind is a fantastic thing; it made its own movie of my life as I lay sweating, squirming, and quivering.

It was frightening and disturbing but it was also beautiful and vivid and colorful. I see it’s all in there, it never goes away, it just hides at times.

I woke up to a beautiful summer day. Maria and I were exhausted; I had toast and salmon for breakfast and kept it down. My fever was going up and down, but mostly down, and we just came in from sitting out in the sun and watching the birds.

I felt pretty lucky to be alive. I am better than I was two nights ago, but not quite hole. I need to rest and lie down a lot, and I am wobbly on my feet. It’s odd, but I was too tired to write, and it feels good and healing to be back at the computer.

I took my Leica outside and got this photo of Flo in front of our mystery statue of a saint.

I know I will be all right, and I am taking care of myself, and Maria is taking good care of me. She hasn’t slept much these past two nights, and I worry about her.

This is new terrain for me, I’ve never been so sick, but I am definitely getting better, just not fast enough for me. I never forget that there are so many people who never get better at all.

So we’re both going to rest for a while. And then do it all again.