In the Clear

I could feel it coming. The aches in my muscles, the tiredness in the back of my eyes and the gentle throb over my left temple. Something wasn't right, and I wasn't willing to back down from my shift. I knew it wasn't safe to cycle when in this condition, and after three hours of promo work, I am extremely grateful I didn't. My whole body was wrecked.

"The reason we find dissatisfaction in our lives is because we're afraid to put our finger in the problem" my shift leader said to me that day. She'd worked as a life coach and was (from my perspective) spewing out advice she packaged for all her clientele. "Even when you find the problem, it will jump to another part of your body, and you must continually seek it out to fix it." She sounded bizarre to me, completely faithful in her mantra, her methods. I stood there, wondering whether I ought to have told her how tired I was or whether pleasantries would've resulted in a better outcome.

Everyone has their own belief system, that's for sure. They also have their own coping methods, strategies to "get through", experiences and lessons. I, like my father, tend to complain about my problems and have them engulf me before doing some wickedly forthright action to try and quell the problem. I, like my mother, would go to church and pray about it, hoping that I was going through this because God needed me to, and that I would get out the other side with more energy and grace as a result.

As I got home that day, I knew one thing was for certain: I'd need to put the breaks on. 

I emailed in sick the next day to promo, cancelled my volunteer shift, and attended an audition out of sheer necessity to keep the one part of my life going that I direly needed to keep going. And then I curled up in bed and read.

Between Thursday afternoon to Monday, I spent the majority of my time in bed. I drugged myself on rotations of pandadol and ibuprofen, making vitamin concoctions between nose blows and teary eyes. I endured many a cold sweat, knowing I had to relent to the full force of my fever/flu. Only on Sunday did I feel strong enough to do some chores before collapsing back into bed.

In the Clear

Forcing myself to stop, to relinquish all my worries and just go with the throes of my cold, helped me mentally. I let myself drift off into other realities through my books (5 down so far), not having to answer to the normal duties in my life. It was the extended Easter break, after all. As my flatmates left for their respective "homes", I celebrated Easter alone and in the least romanticized way, but my solitude was highly welcome, soothing and altogether needed.

Yin and Yan

Now I'm back into a "normal" day, replete with more dog walks and agreeing to have Ria stay at our place as she travels from Australia. Trust that I would get straight back into a bit of a hectic lifestyle, juggling different schedules to make everything work just so. Of course it doesn't, and I've already worried about my doggies and getting to every house on time, etc, etc. I'm such a bizarre creature, bringing on the worry that I already know sets me back. But I also know I cannot be afraid of my erroneous tendencies just because I know their strength.

And thus, it continues.

I'm Cooking Breakfast then Seeing this Little One.