Looking for the Moon

Middle of the night. 0300. I wake up shivering and aching, the surreal images of fever dreams lingering in the dark. I stumble into the kitchen and down a couple of ibuprofen. I shuffle to the other side of the house and check on my son. He’s breathing and his skin is clammy, but he’s not feverish. I think he might be over the worst of it. Mei stares at me from her spot on the ottoman. Even she knows it’s a ridiculous hour to be awake, so she graces me with a dramatic cat yawn and is soon snoring again. As the medicine kicks in, the chills give way to waves of heat. I strip down to my boxers in the living room, leaving my baggy GU sweats and hoodie on the couch. My appetite suddenly returns with a vengeance. 0400. Standing in the kitchen half-naked, making scrambled eggs with too much butter, toasted sangak, and a generous chunk of feta. 0420 blaze it. But no, not really. Now I sit here at the computer, writing this silly post. I almost feel bad for the people who waste precious…