I’m in bed with a cold. I have time (and energy) to read (and write a little).
I get better when I read lines like these, from Mircea Cărtărescu, “Travesti”
“I lay down in the grass and let the constellations veil fall over my face. I was an hourglass with stardust that slowly trickled through my pupils and slowly filled the skull with myths and fairy animals and pale star coolness.”
My own amateur translation