Skip to main content

Sick.

Yesterday, I woke up and walked to the bathroom and thought, There is no way I can go to work today. So I slept all day (did you notice I was too tired even to tweet!?). And managed to "sit" long enough to watch some So You Think You Can Dance with Karen, but she had to bring it into my room.

This morning, I felt a bit better and decided to shower. And then I needed to nap, and around 11am, I thought, Maybe I should go into work this afternoon. So I left at noon, and got money to buy transit tokens, because I knew I couldn't walk like I usually do. And by the time I got to the streetcar station, I thought, This may have been a mistake. But then I thought, It'll be okay once I'm there and sitting down.

So I got there and sat down, and staring at the computer screen made me feel woozy, but I lasted for two hours. I did the time-sensitive work and then I came home. Then I napped. Deeply.

And now it is Tuesday evening, and I am feeling hungry-ish, for the first time since Sunday. And I only have two and a half days of work ahead of me, and although being sick is the pits, it's a little bit of a blessing because the long weekend will be great and I have slept a lot, which apparently my body needed. And I was too tired to overthink my life, which I have been doing recently, and apparently my mind needed that rest too.

Sometimes, the only way for me to really rest is to get sick, and I need to be reminded that I cannot just keep pushing myself (like I tried to do this afternoon). I am in control of me, but sometimes I'm not really, and I need to be okay with that.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Simone Weil: On "Forms of the Implicit Love of God"

Simone Weil time again! One of the essays in Waiting for God  is entitled "Forms of the Implicit Love of God." Her main argument is that before a soul has "direct contact" with God, there are three types of love that are implicitly  the love of God, though they seem to have a different explicit  object. That is, in loving X, you are really loving Y. (in this case, Y = God). As for the X of the equation, she lists: Love of neighbor  Love of the beauty of the world  Love of religious practices  and a special sidebar to Friendship “Each has the virtue of a sacrament,” she writes. Each of these loves is something to be respected, honoured, and understood both symbolically and concretely. On each page of this essay, I found myself underlining profound, challenging, and thought-provoking words. There's so much to consider that I've gone back several times, mulling it over and wondering how my life would look if I truly believed even half of these thin

I Like to Keep My Issues Drawn

It's Sunday night and I am multi-tasking. Paid some bills, catching up on free musical downloads from the past month, thinking about the mix-tape I need to make and planning my last assignment for writing class. Shortly, I will abandon the laptop to write my first draft by hand. But until then, I am thinking about music. This song played for me earlier this afternoon, as I attempted to nap. I woke up somewhere between 5 and 5:30 this morning, then lay in bed until 8 o'clock flipping sides and thinking about every part of my life that exists. It wasn't stressful, but it wasn't quite restful either...This past month, I have spent a lot of time rebuffing lies and refusing to believe that the inside of my heart and mind can never change. I feel like Florence + The Machine 's song "Shake it Out" captures many of these feelings & thoughts. (addendum: is the line "I like to keep my issues strong or drawn ?" Lyrics sites have it as "stro

Esse - Czeslaw Milosz

I'm on a bit of a poetry binge this week, and Monday afternoon found me lying on the luxurious shag rug of a friend's tiny apartment, re-reading some of my favourite poets (ee cummings, William Carlos Williams, Czeslaw Milosz). It is an adventure to re-open a collection and wonder what will pop out, knowing something you've read before will strike you afresh, or you will be reminded of a particularly moving line that you had somehow forgotten. Like this piece from Milosz, which floors me. Every. damn.* time. The first time I read it, I lay in a park with a friend (this same friend who offered me her rug as my reading burrow) and demanded that I share it with her. I spoke it carefully, and then, into the post-reading silence, I slammed the book shut, and dropped it as loudly as I could onto the grass. "I'm never reading anything again," I declared, "What else is there to say?" Esse I looked at that face, dumbfounded. The lights of métro st