Update: I haven’t managed to get Pretzel and Popcorn, my wood-chewing, hay-eating, mould-sprouting chinchillas – yet. In the meantime, I’ve had to find something else to reduce the tedium of the enforced breaks I’m supposed to be taking five times a day, according to the chronic fatigue specialists.
Which led me to purchase this Certified Medical Device:
Yes, that is an inflatable ice cream cone, with scoops of strawberry and vanilla and a cherry pillow on top. No, it didn’t come in chocolate. I guess people don’t want to think about the colour of chocolate when they’re in the pool.
I realise this makes it look like having chronic fatigue is basically a vacation. If you’re the type of person who aspires to a lifetime of napping, watching TV and staying at home, and you don’t mind feeling vaguely ill most of the time (and extremely ill some of the time), chronic fatigue might be a vacation for you. Pretty much everyone I know, however, has goals, aspirations and interests that require significantly more energy than it takes to float around on a plastic ice cream cone.
When I bought the ice cream, I pictured myself calmly lying in the pool, staring up at the sky, enjoying the fragrance of the frangipani flowers and the chittering of the rainbow lorikeets. The ice cream float is more of a barge, however, and it didn’t come supplied with an anchor. This means it never stays in one spot. It drifts and meanders through the pool, ricocheting off the sides.
Which would be fine if I reliably had the pool to myself. I happen to share it with the residents of 800 other apartments, however, several of which are small children.
Unfortunately having the ice cream barge in the pool with small children is not ideal for two specific reasons:
- the ice cream is constantly moving but for some reason was not equipped with steering capacity or braking; and
- small children are not smart enough to get out of its way when it comes drifting toward them at speeds of up to 7 knots.
This is how I ran over a child in the pool last week. She was fine, but the hassle of making sure I didn’t run her over a second time meant I could hardly lie back and relax.
Which is why these days, I’ve spent my breaks lying on my ice cream float as it stays securely in one spot on the living room floor, while I stare up at the ceiling, listening to traffic. Is this helping me get better? I don’t know, but it’s damn well making me feel like I’m getting $38 worth out of my ice cream purchase, that much is clear.