Where The Wild Things Aren't.

taken at the Other Place, Burlington, VT.

I had this surly little post all done up in my head. Really. I've been socked in my antfarm apartment for the past five days with what's either a really, really nasty cold or the flu (which is a sad thing for me to admit, because in ten years of medical assisting, never have I ever once come down with the stinking flu). Thursday, in fact, when it started, I even scored a free movie pass from a patient who owns Essex Cinemas on the very opening weekend of Where the Wild Things Are, a movie that I genuinely was ready to wade through the Radiohead-and-Urban-Outfitters-had-sex-with-each-other crowd that was sure to be there. And NERRP. Could barely even make it up the stairs by the time I got home. Foiled.

Adding to my misery: No heat in the apartment until Monday, and it's getting cold here, folks.

Needless to say, I spent the next several days watching The Godfather trilogy on VHS (oh, did I not tell you? My TV won't connect to my DVD player) over and over and over again and have crazy fever dreams. Yes, I even watched Part III. No, I am not proud of this.

I swiped some tapes while I was at home. Babe. Rushmore. Standard fare. I would rather not talk about being at home at the moment, save to say that one doesn't watch The Godfather trilogy for four days solid and not learn a little something about family.

That, children, is not what this post is about. No, not by a long shot. I woke up this morning, and it was pretty much like last morning. Angry animal trying to claw its way out of my chest. Fever scorching damn something out of my body. Every step I took hurt even my hair. And I have a boatload to do for school. My dog might be getting sick. And all of a sudden, there's a knock at my door.

There was a package with a card taped to the front, from my homies at the old office. That's right. The place I used to work. And it was full, filled up, with stuff - Easy Mac, PopTarts, yarn!, gummi eyeballs, brain-shaped icecube trays, peanut-butter filled pretzels. And just this coincidence alone was enough to make me smile, but then....the heat came on.

Listen - I have mulled over this "family" nuisance since things fell apart. But from Celena sending me that care package without thinking twice; to Will getting takeout for me from a thousand miles away while I'm in the throes of something fierce; to Amanda and Allen who let me share their stage and continue to enchant me with all they're doing; to the unlikely posse at the OP who send me drunk text messages to casually let me know that they miss a lady being around and causing trouble; to Aaron whose worrying almost matches my own; always to my other-half, my brother; and to my mother, who, while she vexes me to no end with her strange assertions and needless alarmism, actually gives a damn about what the hell I'm doing with myself up here. I have a wonderful family. I have an amazing, wonderful, family.

And yeah, New England in the autumn? They weren't lying to you. It is divine. I said to Thomas one evening a few weeks ago as we sat outside on the corner of Pearl and N. Winooski that I was worried the good weather was coming to an end, and that I felt I should soak up the goodness before the inevitable iron curtain descends. "Nah," he said, flipping his cigarette dismissively. "There's a lot more than this. A lot more ahead."

Sincerest apologies for the sick-rant. Bear Country will return with lasers set on stunning sometime next week.