I thought it was just cold last night at the Forks. Turns out it was a fever. I guess I should have known something was wrong when I arrived at the Opening night reading at 8 o’clock. The show started at 7. How could I make that kind of mistake?

It’s clear to me now that the sleepy fog of congestion had already forced its way into my brain. A condition further confirmed by the fact that I could barely understood a word Bertrand Nayet said. Now don’t get me wrong, I could still HEAR what he was saying, and I could still FEEL what he was saying, but his words really seemed like another language. It was like he was speaking, I don’t know, French.

I also seem to remember Debra Schnitzer being there too. But in my dreamy, flu shaped memory she’s speaking in a really high pitched, funny kind of voice some of the time. There’s no way that could have happened could it? I don’t remember her ever using funny voices, or dramatic readings back when I had her as a Prof in university, do I?

Ah, who knows, maybe none of it really happened. Maybe I was just completely delusional and only imagined I saw what I saw. After all, I also remember having quite a bit of fun last night and I really don’t see how listening to poetry outside in the dark could ever be fun. Like really, its poetry.

Oh well, lucky for you you don’t have to take what I tell you as truth. I saw some of my compatriots there and I’m sure they’ll tell you what really went on. Take care.

J

PS It's not Swine Flu.

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Jason Diaz is a Winnipeg-based writer and stay at home dad. His poetry and prose has been published in dark leisure magazine. Last year he joined the Thin Air collective and has been awaiting the festival’s arrival ever since. He has still only been interviewed by The Uniter once, and is sadly no longer licensed to drive forklift.