I'm writing this in a state of recovery.
Yesterday, without warning and in throws of DIY triumph, I fell horrendously ill. It didn't take very long; only a space of about 15 minutes from gazing proudly on the desk that I'd just created from scratch (well, a carefully prefabricated selection of parts) to desperately trying to keep my gorge from rising while sitting on the toilet. None of my usual remedies worked. Water, rest, cursing my place in the universe. Slightly feverish and lying in bed ready to leap to the bathroom at the meer hint of a twitch in my guts it occurred to me that it was my day off.
Today, I am working an evening shift. 2-10. It will probably be busy with customers I would rather not serve. And I feel fine. My boss just called, saying that if I needed some more recovery time that was cool. And I don't. One spectacular chunder before bed last night and I feel totally human again.
What's up with that?
Why did it have to be on my day off? Why did the vast chunk of my 24 hours of freedom get flushed down the toilet? Is it Karma? Was I some sort of horrendous maniac in a former life? Is it vengeance for everytime I've checked my personal email at work? Is this some sort sarcastic HR deity, a la Catbert, that notes any time wasted at the workplace, tallies it and inflicts debilitation digestive disorders on days off to right the balance?
If so, I think it's time for self employment. Or retirement.
08 April 2005
Spring is here... sort of...
Spring is both magical and incredibly frustrating. In my neck of the woods (St Andrews, Fife, Scotland) the sun is shining gloriously, the grass is an amazing emerald green and one is tempted to charge down to the beach, frisbee in one hand and beer in the other. And there you'd be, laughing and drinking and throwing the disc around until dark, which wouldn't be until 8 in the evening. Idyllic?
I'd say so.
Anyone who said it wasn't would be a puritanical bore no doubt, claiming that such behaviour was the road to communism and satan.
There is another, colder side to the story. And that is the bloody wind that thumbs its ephemeral nose at the sunshine. We're talking gale force, white horses on the water sort of wind. They call it a lazy wind up here, because it can't be bothered to go around you. It just goes through you. And it is bloody cold.
So we're at a sort of half-spring point of things. They've got the aesthetics right but the heating hasn't been switched on yet.
So in the meantime I've been getting into shape. Well, trying to. You see, my lunatic friends of mine and I have decided once again to throw caution to the wind and compete in the Ma Bells 7s Rugby Tournament. For me, being 3ish stone overweight (1 stone = 14 pounds), this is requiring a certain amount of memory jogging for my body.
Running for instance. It's hard work, but it seems to be working on a number of levels. One is that it actually feels good. I know, I know, so does sitting in the pub, deciding which pint number you're on (it's the higher number), but this actually makes you feel you've accomplished something. Though, admittedly, to start with that something is "very little", because if you haven' run properly in, say, 10 years, you've got a lot of work to do.
At least it's keeping me warm!
I'd say so.
Anyone who said it wasn't would be a puritanical bore no doubt, claiming that such behaviour was the road to communism and satan.
There is another, colder side to the story. And that is the bloody wind that thumbs its ephemeral nose at the sunshine. We're talking gale force, white horses on the water sort of wind. They call it a lazy wind up here, because it can't be bothered to go around you. It just goes through you. And it is bloody cold.
So we're at a sort of half-spring point of things. They've got the aesthetics right but the heating hasn't been switched on yet.
So in the meantime I've been getting into shape. Well, trying to. You see, my lunatic friends of mine and I have decided once again to throw caution to the wind and compete in the Ma Bells 7s Rugby Tournament. For me, being 3ish stone overweight (1 stone = 14 pounds), this is requiring a certain amount of memory jogging for my body.
Running for instance. It's hard work, but it seems to be working on a number of levels. One is that it actually feels good. I know, I know, so does sitting in the pub, deciding which pint number you're on (it's the higher number), but this actually makes you feel you've accomplished something. Though, admittedly, to start with that something is "very little", because if you haven' run properly in, say, 10 years, you've got a lot of work to do.
At least it's keeping me warm!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
