I hate swallowing DayQuil. No matter how much flavor or attempts to make it appealing with yellow number 5 – it’s not going to make me like it. However, I have to take it with my sick self.
It use to be worst-tasting when I was younger so I am happy that it got to this point. I remember the random remedies that my mom and grandmother used to have me take when I was a child. The Caribbean people are quite partial to something called “bush” tea. “Bush” tea could probably solve almost every ailment known to man – according to them. Not only that, prayer could remove sickness from the body as well, but my cynicism will not get into this today.
Anyway bush tea can come from everything that wasn’t poisonous. I often wondered whether that part of our culture derived from Africa since we were all descendants. I also wondered what plants didn’t grow in the Caribbean that were more effective.
Actually, I didn’t want to get into bush tea. I have just been typing a great deal on the train. I am currently on the Express train to work – I think that access to this train is what caused me to not want to move. Just enough time to the airport, to work and to the LIRR. Nope I am not here because I like Brooklyn. I am quite unfamiliar with this place actually.
I often dream of home when I think of my final destination. I spend days recollecting the events of Gilbert’s death and this comes to mind. I don’t feel him anymore and it’s like he says to move on – very bittersweet. I thought of him a great deal last night in my NyQuil Coma. His memories are in photographs now. Is that bad? I am not too sure about the right way of dealing with death.
Anyway until I type a blog entry on my iPod again.