Ah, the cruelest month. I have lived and died and lived again in Aprils past. I am a true April Fool.
This year, March went out with snow and a hard frost on the daffodils. April must be in like a lamb - if the lamb had pneumonia and spent most nights of late coughing its lungs up. My darling husband actually suggested we try out the new medical coverage. ha.
When I was in high school, I contracted some kind of infection around my heart. I'm sure my dad and all my other doctor-siblings and sibs-in-law could easily provide a medical latinate for its infectious identity. I only recall that it felt as if I was stabbed from inside with every breath. For the duration of the infection, I bedded down in the reading nook of the basement family room where I could sleep sitting up. Sleep and weep and read. Never able to do just one, I read Tolstoy and Tolkien, Asimov, Heinlein, James Joyce, George Orwell and Thomas Hardy. A plethora of human suffering. Plethora - I've heard Chris Berman use it successfully on ESPN. Goes with "Whoop!"
My point? Long gone under the haze of Advil and Dextromethorphan HBr extended release.
The beauty of some down days as April opens up in all its glory is that I have started a new book(s). John Dos Passos, Sherwood Anderson, and Grace Paley. An April plethora.