Illness is your body’s way of slowing you down, and the slower you can get the better.  In the past 72 hours, I’ve learned that I’m TERRIBLE at being sick.  Here’s a little run-down:

Tuesday Morning: I first feel a little under the weather.  A big day was planned, and I decide to carry on with the plan of driving North out of the city for the day.  I feel a little better around midday, then worse again that night.

Wednesday Morning: I’m officially sick, and I’m immediately upset about it.  I know it’s thanks to an absurdly late night I indulged in over the weekend, and now I’m paying the price and feeling lousy.  But there’s much to be done, and I decide that if I’m not going to make it to my studio, I’ll sure as heck get some computer work done.  I sit at my desk in the cold and struggle through some photoshop and wordpress tasks.  I hit snags at ever turn, forced to contact tech support and chat with numerous representatives supposedly named “Mike”.  I miss out on a chance to hang out with a friend.

Wednesday afternoon: I take a short nap but don’t feel well enough to make it to a reunion dinner, so I’m forced to pull out.  I put myself to bed at 9pm sharp, determined to sleep this damn thing off.  I toss and turn for more than an hour, thinking about how I wish I wasn’t sick, and of all the things I have to do tomorrow and how I absolutely need to feel better and how this sleep just has to come.  It doesn’t, and finally I have to get up and use the bathroom, and I’m aggravated to see it’s well past ten when I get back in bed.  I read for a little while.  I TRY to relax.  Finally, I fall asleep.

Thursday morning: I feel a little better but I’m not “better”.  I get up early anyway, and push myself down to my studio to get some things done.  I don’t get much done.  I can’t focus and I can’t make decisions.  I start a project and it doesn’t quite come out right and I leave it.  Then I realize It’s not a project I want to do, and, tired, I go home.

Thursday afternoon: I realize how silly I’m being, and I enjoy my afternoon, accepting the fact that I’m feeling a little sick.  I come to a couple of great revelations about my future and about my character.  I drive to Sausalito, then to Sacramento.  I’m in bed by ten.  I can’t sleep.  I’m excited about feeling better tomorrow so that I can go play football.  It gets cold and I toss and turn.

Friday morning: I feel a little better but I’m still not “better”.  I think about how much I want to play football but I know I shouldn’t go.  I go back to sleep and sleep well until ten.  I get up and decide that I’m going to play football anyway.  I get online and google “excercising while sick” and am told it’s generally not advisable but maybe not too bad an idea if my symptoms are from the neck up.  I convince myself that they are and I go play football, intending to “take it easy”.

Friday afternoon: I play football for two hours and don’t really take it easy at all.  I play quarterback and I try really hard to help my team win.  We’re losing but we keep fighting and by the end my arm is really sore and I feel awful.  I finally call it quits and I’m thinking about a reunion meet-up I want to go to that night and how I want to see a friend the next day and then go to dinner on Monday, and damnit why the heck did I go and play football?  Did I not want to get well?  Do I want to be sick forever?

Friday evening: I’m sitting on the couch and feeling ok but not great.  I’m still a little congested and I’m really really tired.  There’s a get-together tonight with a bunch of friends I haven’t seen in years.  I want to go but… well, you know.

I realize something:  Being sick isn’t about feeling bad.  What being sick really is is an opportunity to step out of your life but still be there to observe it.  It’s an opportunity to say no to things and to show your body that you care.  It’s an opportunity to appreciate how amazing your body really is, and how hard it works to do all of the things you want to do.  It’s an opportunity to do nothing, to think about things, to stare off into space and listen to music, and to get comfortable with nothingness.
I’m not quite there, but I’m getting there, I guess.