Variations on not yet dying

Sick leaves. They aren't the ones falling from the tree. No. No. Those are already dead. Poetic as they may be set to music from 1963. Poetic like a plastic bag dancing in the wind or so the Americans would have us believe.

Sick leave. Spending days in and out of sleep, I recall a time when this is what I did. It kind of makes me want to go back to work just so they won't make me go to that place when I had nothing to do with my day except wait for the next one. It also seems like a good opportunity to reflect on the value of health and how easy it is to overlook that on a day-to-day basis. I think I'll drink some orange juice to that. This also provides an opportunity to reflect on all the other important things in my life, but then I realize that I don't feel that great and I'd rather curl up and go back to bed, but not before I make a joke.

Stick leaves. I'll miss that little stick.