I am so glad it's this week and not last week. Because last week kind of had its way with me. And it was not pretty.
I'd expected to head north on Wednesday , touching down in London, spending a week on that big island inflicting myself on various friends. That was the plan. The deities who run this lunatic asylum we call life had other ideas. Couple of days before departing, my body began sending me the signals it sends when it's thinking about coming down with something. Lightheadedness, the feeling of a system slightly out of balance, tilting toward something not so pleasant. My response: take extra good care of myself. Ate well, gulped down vitamin C, took naps, tried not to stay up as absurdly late as I tend to do here. And whatever was coming on held off, hovering about instead of taking control and making me miserable. Until Tuesday night, when it suddenly blossomed. Nose began running with joyous abandon, energy plunged wildly, that kind of thing.
Spent the night mostly awake, mostly feeling real bad, blowing my reddening nose every few minutes (producing sounds like low-flying aircraft) and dreading the thought of traveling to a cold, damp somewhere, dragging luggage everywhere I went. And when I finally found myself in the bathroom around 7 a.m., trying to pull myself together for the trip out to the airport, I stared into the reddened eyes of the ragged-looking individual who gazed at me from the mirror and knew I could not put myself through a major trip right then.
I might not have allowed that kind of turnaround if it hadn't been for one of the friends I'd been planning on visiting in Blighty -- someone going through a difficult passage and feeling shaky, fragile. I'd received an email from her the night before bailing on our visit, offering apologies but resolute in the need to take care of herself. A good example, one I apparently needed to see -– I suspect if I hadn't I would have gone ahead with the flight and spent a miserable few days, unwell and lousy company. So I cancelled -- let friends know I wouldn't be showing up and dragged my adorable bum back to bed where I mostly remained for the next two days, sleeping off whatever had taken hold of my bod.
There really is nothing like recovering the ability to do something basic. Get up, walk around, go out enjoy the day. Eat, breathe, follow the simplest impulses without thinking about it. So nice, all that. And so nice that we mostly have the luxury of taking it all for granted. Nothing like a bit of deprivation to make that clear.
Meanwhile, somewhere in the middle of all that some knucklehead left a comment on this journal's last entry, reacting to my slightly less than blissful tone re: having a Paul Revere and the Raiders tune lodged in my head. I answered, low-key and barely coherent, but didn't really absorb the comment until after I'd returned the land of the living and read it again. And again. And found myself laughing happily at the wonderful goofiness of a statement like "...Paul Revere beat Pearl Jam all hollow." I'm sorry to say the writer didn't leave a name or webpage, but I sincerely hope that will not be the only time they grace this page with their thoughts.
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Yuletide hooha outside El Corté Inglés, Madrid:
España, te quiero.
rws 6:25 AM [+]
Comments:
I heard that if you feel you're coming down with a cold or flu to rub Vicks VapoRub on the soles of your feet, put socks on and go to bed. In the morning you're supposed to feel good as new. I admit, I haven't tried it myself, but cousins have said it works.
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