It doesn’t matter how I ended up catching a cold. The weather has been erratic, flying anywhere always exposes you to a higher risk and I’ve had long weeks at work following each other never quite feeling rested enough.
It’s likely a combination of it all.
I had a really nice day in Amsterdam with my brother yesterday and because we got home quite late and very tired, I didn’t get to post anything new. Mind you, I did write a little in the morning, which was better than nothing and nothing is never an option these days.
When I woke up at 6am for the first time, I knew that a cold was upon me. You get that unpleasant feeling at the back of your throat where all the cavities inside you head join. It feels inflamed and it’s unpleasant when swallowing.
I couldn’t get much more sleep after that even though I felt exhausted. It’s the worst feeling to know you’re getting sick. Your body betrays you. It’s a simple common cold, the first one I’ve had in almost a year actually. Maybe that’s why I feel so much more aware of it.
I’m not someone, who complains. I will fly home, take some drugs (the prescribed kind, not the kind that gets you jailed) for the flight, and get myself into bed. I shall hope to catch a ten hour rest. I don’t care about anything else.
If the supermarket is still open, I hope to get some ingredients to throw some soup together, but if it isn’t I’m not sure I’ll be able to care either way.
I do not want to have to call in sick. I basically can’t afford to be sick. I just want to sleep it off and feel much better tomorrow, catch a few early nights, let the laundry pile on and I don’t care. I need to take care of myself, a break is most necessary.
I’ve not had anything resembling a holiday since I just spent a few days relaxing in Hawaii after finishing a month working on an organic farm. That was March last year. Every other time I had off I spent visiting family and friends for a long weekend here or there, nothing that qualifies for a holiday in any way, shape or form.
If I were a fulltime writer, I don’t think I would care, because I would love what I’d be doing, every minute of it, even though writing is the hardest calling I could’ve chosen, or maybe it chose me. But as long as you love what you do there’s no need for a break.
Also, I probably wouldn’t get sick.
I think, I’d feel a little less sorry for myself just this moment, if I were already back in London, or if I wouldn’t have to return to London.
Okay, so my body is telling me by getting sick that I’m already sick of a few other things right now, maybe in a less literal way, but that’s what bodies do, they make it literal sometimes. I’ve been through this before and only a drastic change resulted in me not getting sick for almost a year.
Fine, I’m listening. I’ve known it is time to move on for a while now. I guess I need to start getting serious about it.
First sleep, though, then I can change my life.