The two suns of Ottawa: Day 17 of self-isolation

The six people who visit these pages may well have noticed a little tension in yesterday’s over-long overview of the day. It was a pure exercise in self-indulgence (well, come on, it is a blog) and having re-read it, I cringe a little at the rather jejune philosophy being espoused. Parts of it were positively Trumpian.
 
Anyway, having watched Series 2 of Shelley before climbing into bed, I got a fresh handle on what constitutes witty repartee, so hopefully today’s effort will be slightly better. Unless, of course, I get sidetracked.
 
I was in a much better frame of mind today – not sure which stage of the Kübler-Ross acceptance cycle I am at (denial, anger, depression, bargaining or acceptance) but I seem to have moved through the first three very quickly yesterday, and perhaps to have returned to the first one again. This cough is real enough, but it doesn’t seem to be worsening and, indeed, might be improving. It is worse when I lie down – so as long as I don’t lie down, I am healthy. Maybe I’ll sleep like Ben Jonson: wedge myself upright in a corner and try to drop off vertically (he was buried upright in Westminster Abbey, and it doesn’t seem to have done him any harm).
 
Even though there was nothing doing in terms of my writing today – at least the sun was shining and it was warm. It was actually positively spring-y. And I managed to get outside. Admittedly, it only involved me opening the side door and sitting on the step, but I stayed there for 45 minutes, soaking in the sun and rejuvenating my spirit. I also managed to coax the old feral tom cat over to a bowl of food, and sat there while he came over and ate, eyeing me suspiciously from about 3 metres away. I’m still feeling happy and positive (if a little short on inspiration for the post). The difference a bit of sun makes.
 
Other than that, Ottawacker Jr. commanded a chapter of Lord of the Rings, and sat there in the sunlit kitchen wearing a pair of sunglasses while I sang three pages of Tolkien’s interminable elf song. Not even that could bring me down. And I have series 3 of Shelley to look forward to now!!

To close, a bit of Jonson:

  Where dost thou careless lie,
    Buried in ease and sloth?
  Knowledge that sleeps doth die;
  And this security,
    It is the common moth,
That eats on wits, and arts and oft destroys them both.