“Trapped” might be overstating it, since the car doors were unlocked, though metaphorically you could say I’m trapped by illness, and therefore it’s an accurate interpretation of our trip to the Blue Mountains last week.
I’m still sick, and still taking regular breaks from the whole-lotta-nothing I generally do most days. And it’s still boring and lonely and heartbreaking, and also not nearly as bad as it could be, so I’m trying not to complain, even when I get left in the car by the side of the road to nap in the backseat while Steve and his cousin go hiking in the mountains.
FYI, I love hiking.
Being sick is like being perennially stuck in the car while everyone else does stuff you used to do, but without you. Sure, I can pose with the best of them. Look at me at Echo Point, smiling like a healthy person and convincing everyone I’m having a great time!
And I was having a great time, in the sense that I was relieved to have escaped the apartment for a day, and have the mountain scenery to distract me, even though I spent most of the drive feeling like I was being run over by a tractor.
Here’s the thing: if you meet up with me, I’m probably flooded with adrenalin at the excitement of being out of the apartment and interacting with another human creature, to the point where I’m talking 7200-words-per-minute and, if you look closely, vibrating slightly. I don’t look sick.
But after, at home, I’ll go straight to bed because my eyeballs are burning and my muscles are aching and my brain is too muddled to figure out dinner (does hummus go with oranges?), even though all I did was sit and drink three cups of lemongrass tea and converse for 97 minutes in a public setting.
You’re right, I’d probably feel better if I’d just stayed home alone all the time, except I would go insane.
I am getting better, but it’s slow. Slow like an overseas letter posted circa 1824. Slow like a slow cooker you forgot to plug in. Slow like Australian internet.
I assumed my recovery would look something like this highly scientific graph, where the x-axis is time, and the y-axis is healthfulness:
A much more accurate depiction of my recovery looks like this:
(Which is of course stolen from Demetri Martin.)
My point, if I have one, is that I’ve been in that swirly mess stage of recovery lately, and writing all 419 words of this has felt like a punch in the face, so I’m going back to bed now, at 11:23 am. Good night.