Under the weather

I remember reading long time back that when you’re really tired, or sick, you can’t write. Your productivity goes down to zilch. Or what you write won’t be a masterpiece. Far from it. Stay healthy.

Not that I’m a great writer, but since Sunday, my sickness has prevented exercising my writing.

It started with gastric pains Sunday evening. I’d played tennis in the evening, and was extremely hungry by the time I’d finished. Instead of enjoying a healthy meal, I went to pub and drank two pints of ale. While walking home, the pain started.

After dinner, I thought the pain would subside. I wanted to write a story, and about my Friday night when I’d been sloshed and landed on a stage where a band was playing live. The bouncers warned me. One more scene like that and I’d be thrown out like a piece of shit. I nodded. In fact, I was so drunk I was laughing. Nothing mattered.

After that, I met a girl. Both drunk, we danced, kissed, but when I suggested going home together, she vanished. In desperation, I searched inside and outside the club, and left the friend I’d come with inside the club.

I returned home disappointed. While walking, I was so tired I sat down on the curb and waited for a taxi or even a bus. At 3 a.m. there were people coming back from parties, private cars passing by, but no public transportation. I was drunk, hungry, and extremely sleepy.

I was dozing off when I heard footsteps. The road wasn’t dark. There were streetlights.

Three girls with pizzas in there hands were walking by. They looked at me and I said I’m hungry too. One of them said I could have half of her pizza. I said I’d only take if I could pay for it. She said that wasn’t necessary. I insisted. She said she’d rather not give me any then.

By now, the wonderful aroma of pizza had already infested my system. My stomach was churning. I relented. To be honest, I did feel bit like a beggar, sitting there on the curb, asking for food and not having to pay for it. But I needed to eat.

In the end, I not only got half of the mushroom pizza, another girl shared her fries also. I hugged them, saying I needed to thank them, though they weren’t particularly keen on it. After they left, I gobbled up my pizza. The bus arrived soon after that.

On Sunday evening, when I sat down to write these, I not only felt weak but I had fever also. In my quest to lose weight, I’ve been playing football and tennis. I’d sprain my hamstring on Sunday and played with the pain. Now, every bit of my body was hurting. I couldn’t move, let alone sit and type.

I took painkiller and slept.

Monday, the pain continued. No work. The whole day, I made soup and had it with bread. Today, I feel better. I’ve slept for more than 30 hours past two days. But as I write this, I’m still feeling drowsy and lethargic. Perhaps, I need more rest. I can’t afford to be sick anymore.

And no more strenuous exercise or drinking.