Sickling.

Ask me how my weekend was. I dare you to.

It sucked. After a pretty crappy week I thought uncharacteristically optimistic that the weekend may get better. No such luck. To make a long story short: I cried during meditation. Then thanks to the parts when I didn’t cry but had to hop up and down, I am now so sore that I can barely manage the spiral staircase in my flat. Which becomes a problem when you wake at 2am on Saturday and realize that you may have food poisoning and will need to frequently use the bathroom for the next 10 hours. The bathroom being on the on the opposite end of the spiral staircase. I do not lie - my legs have never been so sore in my entire life and I could have laughed about myself if it wasn’t all so tragic. Big sigh. To top that all of I think I have gotten the food poisoning from a lovely ball of Burrata mozzarella from Giovanni’s, my second favorite food in the world and meant as a Saturday treat to cheer me up after the week and the more than slightly traumatic meditation in the morning. Now I have the looming suspicion that I may never want to eat Burrata again, which makes me sad just thinking about it, even though I can’t really think about it now as the thought makes me slightly nauseous. It least last time it happened it was just from chicken Lo Mein and I have lived very well without it for the last 9 years.

I also realized once again that when I am sick I turn into a boy. A whining, the world is bad place, I want my Mommy and I want her now - boy. It didn’t help that I had to unseen movies or shows, no Gatorate and no salty crackers in the house and my cousin then called to invite me for a ride on the rubber duck and a braai. I missed it all and no mother in sight either. Mind you, I actually do not like Gatorate.

So with all this fragility going on inside and out, I can be forgiven for indulging in a little text conversation with the Frenchman especially since I had finally broken off ties with Dr. Maths Saturday afternoon just in time before I got too sick to do anything that makes sense. I swear it was the nausea moving my hands, writing somewhat witty replies and I just couldn’t help it. Quite frankly it was a very liberating feeling as was feeling too yuk to even judge myself. Maybe not a bad thing. Nobody should be judgmental anyhow…

The new day is spent, feeling very drained but much better, on the couch. Drove myself to the Engen, no mother needed, for some crackers and Gatorate and realized that they call it Energade here. But unfortunately it tastes just as bad. I will drink it up though as for the time being my good mood is returning and the rest of the week spells wine tasting, bubbly tasting, dinner date, dinner party and the weekend is not even included. So therefore quoting my favorite show (which I may have watched a bit too much of the last 24 hours): I am energading up!