RSS feedWoe is me
I picked up some very nasty bug over the weekend. Matt and I had planned an inane St Patrick’s Day in the pub - promotional Guinness hats, bad food, that kind of thing. Felt a bit odd when I woke up, put it down to staying up late to fight Kirin*. By late afternoon, like many overenthusiastic revellers, I was making friends with porcelain. On a day’s holiday too, damn.
The striking thing about “proper” illness - the kind where you can’t even turn the light on, let alone watch TV or call your Mum for sympathy - is the boredom. Last time I was in a similar state was in the Royal Shrewsbury Hospital with a marvellous cocktail of intravenous painkillers and sedatives. Sleep and consciousness melted into each other. Time was a swollen river bursting its banks.
This weekend, time stood still. I groaned in bed and counted the minutes between paracetamol doses. Radio 4 held a panel discussion about loneliness and isolation. Then the shipping forecast. Did you know it lasts for twenty minutes?
I’m much improved now and I’ve just eaten my first meal for four days but, as a man, I am of course duty-bound to complain about illness. I’ll find a new topic to gripe about soon.
* We lost. Imperfect strategy (wrong choice of kiter), slightly low attendance, and an elementary mistake on Sukazu. Guess we have to wait a bit longer for our Noble’s Tunics.
Categories: illness, patheticwhining
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