Green As a Gourd

All this week I've been waking up, as my mom used to say, "as green as a gourd". She was the Queen of Colloquialisms. "As cold as a frog", "as nervous as a pregnant nun in church..." I grew up with this shit and I try really hard not to accidentally slip into using it.

Anyway, I wake up with a nausea that lasts several hours, or until I take a Tagamet. I know what you're thinking. No, it isn't morning sickness. I only wish it were. I could sue a couple of doctors, claim the Immaculate Conception, and make a phone call to the National Enquirer. Are they still in business?...

I probably have malaria, or West Nile, or something. In the evenings, when I dare to venture out to water the plants on the front porch, I get bitten by at least four mosquitoes. Due to all of the rain, they're especially bad this year. I've tried different things: the bracelets don't work, I hate the idea of slathering my skin with pesticides and, although those little clip-on fan things work, they're damned expensive and they only work for a few hours. I read somewhere online (which makes it absolutely true, you know) that I'm especially attractive to mosquitoes because the Hashimoto's creates more collagen in the blood or something like that. And I get seriously bad bites. I won't go into that though. Not when I'm feeling like this. They even bite me through my clothes. Levis! How the hell do they do that?

It's sad, really, and totally unfair. When evening comes around it's beautiful outside. The dusk is full of fireflies,  it's warm, neighbors sit on their porches, people walking their dogs go by, and I have to stay indoors. I wait all year to enjoy the porch. I fill it with flowers and green plants, wind chimes and bird feeders, then I'm forced to sit in the house.

I dreamed last night that I was in England of the early 1900s. A woman was on horseback and trying to find her lover, who was leaving on a coach. When she realized the coach had already left without her being able to say goodbye, she plunged a knife into her horse's neck and left. I felt so badly for the horse that I sat with it, crying as it died.

Any ideas? I hope it's not Freudian.