Part of the reason I cancelled all my meetings this week is that on Saturday I did not feel at all well. Or, to be more precise, I felt like someone had come and sucked all the blood and marrow out of my bones and all I could do was collapse in a corner like a bundle of sticks.
But I couldn’t tell anyone that.
Why? Because I am so fuh-reak-ing (emphasis on the FREAK part) analytical and, wait for it, so “self-aware” that I intuited that my exhaustion was emotional and therefore contemptible. I mean really– had I not just spent a week at the lake with my family in some modicum of a holiday? And sure, I knew in my heart that it really wasn’t much of a holiday at all what with me working and my sister-in-law being a total pill (see how I slid that in there and no one will ever see it) and it raining hard for four days straight– but the truth was, I felt like it should have been a holiday and my weak state on Sunday was simply a matter of unexpressed anger or annoyance or disappointment or something like that.
Despite the fact that I kept dialing out from 0 to 60– one minute I’m walking the dogs, frolicking in the pond– feeling fine– the next minute I am on all fours crawling to bed and unconscious before I hit the pillow– at 1:30 in the middle of the afternoon!— I kept trying to analyze what this is about.
Am I depressed, I wonder. Is it stress? Anxiety?
Honest to god, it wasn’t until I was on the phone with Peg this afternoon and waffling about a commitment to work this Sunday when I finally let it slip out that I wasn’t feeling so hot. Kind of a weird thing– just up and down– can’t eat anything but toast, desperate need to sleep every two hours or so. I was so embarrassed to admit this as I hadn’t yet diagnosed it– was it depression? anxiety? stress? When Peg said, “oh Elizabeth, it sounds like what I had a couple of weeks ago.”
And I remembered seeing Peg after she had had this weird virus for about 10 days and she looked like HELL and I sent her home and she was all like, “but I’m so much better than I was.” And I was all like, “you look like death on a stick, go home now.”
She reeled off the symptoms and it was exactly what I have been feeling for the past four days. This weird energy sap with a bit of stomach ache and headache as a side dish.
And you know what? I felt immediately BETTER. I felt so much relief. I’m sick. I have a virus. I’m not a bad person with an emotional disorder— ha ha ha ha HA.
I’m sorry, but I am laughing my ass off over here on the other side of the computer.
Could anyone be more weird? Okay, except for Henry, of course.
So I got myself some diet pepsi which I am drinking on the rocks to try and move that little bugger out of my system and I just made linguini and loaded it with fresh garlic I had bought at the farmer’s market on Saturday– and ate it with a toasted slice of ciabatta slathered in more melted butter and garlic.
Garlic to clean out my blood– get that damn virus gone. But man oh man– it never occurred to me– NEVER, not once, occurred to me that I could actually be sick.
Hilarious– but also? Kinda sad.