I'm a little sick today.
I woke up with a running nose, feeling light-headed and fuzzy.
It is a cold, I am told.
I'm not used to being sick, and I don't like it one bit. I don't know how to act or what to do with myself now, with the time, because... You're not supposed to be running with a cold, but I have training sessions scheduled and a marathon coming up. You're not supposed to be out and about with a cold, but rather to chill out at home and get well. You're supposed to be sitting in bed for a few days and not go anywhere, and it's not as simple as dealing with a full calendar being suddenly empty, but rather a calendar that remains as stuffed as it was, while you're lying back in bed, cooking like a porcupine on the spit.
I was never one to consider my body and my-self separate things. When I'm sick, I must be responsible. I must have fucked up. And so I begin poking my last few days full of holes, thinking back to the food I ate, the folks I've met and my workout regimen, trying to pinpoint where exactly I might have done something wrong to deserve this.
Even if it might be stupid. It's not that I don't understand the reality of unnecessary suffering in the world. It's just that I don't like to settle for it. If I can take a random case of misfortune that happened to me and turn it into an inspiration to reflect upon my good and bad choice throughout the week, then that is still somewhat of a win in my book.
Already, I can hear people preaching the same phony advice through their keyboards that seniors like to give aspiring creatives: "You are not your work. If your work is criticized, it is not you being criticized."
Well, fuck that, because it never works for me. It might be that thinking you deserve literally everything that's coming your way is one of the most self-deprecating and at the same time narcissistic ideas ever conceived. But what are you to shake at that if it's what you wake up with in the morning?