Cleaned fingers crossed

Couldn't meet with the editor yesterday because she was sick. Couldn't meet with the editor today because Ciro is sick enough that I had to send him to the doctor this morning for a high fever, shakes, and an aching digestive system. Apparently, it's a virus going around that doesn't cause vomiting or diarrhea or congestion any of the other unpleasant symptoms that nevertheless help your body get rid of something; instead, it leaves you in a lot of pain for days and days until your liver and the fever eventually kill it.

So he is now sequestered in a sick room and I have spent the day bringing him gourmet dishes like "watery oatmeal with sugar on it" and the famous "watery rice with salt on it," which he eats two bites of and then sets aside and won't let me clean up because he's very contagious. I then wash my hands a lot. And drink tea.

I hope it's flu. I'm vaccinated against flu.

Making gradual progress on the Digby manuscript, which continues to be a pleasure to read and a real pain in the ass to write.

The time is overdue

It's Martin Luther King Day, which always makes me emotional. As it should. It's the holiday that reminds me of how far we have to go rather than how far we've come.

It occurred to me to look up the Boston NAACP chapter, which is the oldest chapter in existence. This year is its 100th anniversary. Which makes sense, given the abolitionist history of the city, but as a result it's awfully strange how segregated Boston still is. Boston University is where Dr. King got his doctorate and met his wife, and I can go months here in a dense urban center amid crowds of people and not see an African American.* I know they're here. I've seen census data.

Sadly, the NAACP Boston chapter website is out of date. I have e-mailed them. Here's hoping there's someone on the other end. I may not have much in the way of money or legal skills, but I do have a certain capability when it comes to teaching traditionally marginalized groups to wield cameras.

Was worried I was starting to come down with whatever Ciro has, but now suspect that was just caffeine withdrawal.

* My parents' congregation includes a number of Sudanese refugees, at least for the time being. Which is a relief. Monocultures freak me out on an irrational instinctual level. If you put me in a white carpeted room with exclusively straight white women my age, it does not take long before I curl up in a corner. There have been a couple of occasions when I managed it very briefly, usually as a favor to someone else, but they are few and far between. I get paranoid and expect everyone to suddenly turn on me. It's okay if I am one of a group of three or even four white straight-identified women. More than that, and I am ready to gnaw a limb off to get. out. of. there.