So anyhow...I've developed this bronchitis feeling in my chest and have a phlegmy cough to go along with it.
After I made my decision to quit my job, Fellow Traveler predicted that, based on her own experience detoxing from destructive places and feelings, my body was going to start doing some weird stuff on its way to wellness; that I was going to feel worse before I felt better.
I think this is part of the process, my immune system going haywire -- exacerbated by my deathbed vigil on Wednesday. I can understand the primitive fear of dead bodies and taboos surrounding the handling of same, the "ghost sickness" of people like the Navajo. I have to admit that, sitting there in the close, warm nursing-home air surrounded by the odor of imminent death (yes, it does have an odor), I felt a primal urge to get clean -- to run outside and roll in the snow and take big gulps of cold, crisp outdoors. I spent the rest of the day feeling as if I had picked up the smell of death; that it had crept into my nostrils and into the fabric of my clothing and even into my skin.
This initiation into a new phase of life is not coming without cost, I'm finding.