End Feb

We were feverish and woke at odd hours.  Mike came from Pittsburgh to be with his aunt. Yvonne came from Los Angeles to be with her mom. J.P. lost sleep from the coughing. After we went to urgent care, I recognized him on 23rd Street by his cough. February tried to destroy us all again this year, and all we could do was cling together. We stared the month down and swept away the most objectionable of the dust bunnies.  Elena came from Seattle, and we talked about Lyon, we talked about our classmates, we talked about sex, and we talked about our families, the present and future children. We rearranged the furniture and inflated an aerobed for Mike, and we talked about wedding toasts.  I was stonato from being sick.  (It doesn't look the way I want you to hear it, the way my mother would say it.) That put me in a mood for documentaries, as if suspending disbelief would take too much effort; give me rationality, give me Helvetica.  Allison and Eliot called. The sun came out. I tried to run to the High Line, not realizing they close the park. I talked to the kids and Imme asked, "Where's Tia Becky?" Her theory was Tia was on an airplane.  (It was a good guess.)  Babies were born. Jack, Felicity, and they are just the newest ones. I lose track.

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