Willpower

I'm sick.

In every possible sense.

I'm ill, I'm morally depraved, and I'm composed entirely of vomit.

Actually, only two of those are true.

I have a cold. A bad cold. But I'll stop short of calling it "flu". I don't want to be accused of having "man flu" for reasons given a while ago.

Whatever it is, it has kept me mostly bedridden for a few days, and has generally made life confusing, hot, cold, sore and restless. I've been off work, but it isn't even the kind of illness where you get to appreciate it. There's no enjoyment to be had in a state like this.

(I should have offered a disclaimer at the beginning of this: the following blog post will involve a lot of self-pitying grumbling and disproportionate griping)

I don't remember when I was last this ill. Which probably means I'm quite lucky. At least I'm not in hospital, or trapped in a burning library staircase getting eaten by ants.

(I should have followed up my initial disclaimer: the following blog post is written by an ill man, therefore the quality and coherence of the writing may suffer as a result)

The worst part about being this ill is the dreams. I don't know if everyone has this, but when I'm trying to sleep, my subconscious does funny things. Not 'ha ha' funny. More 'oh God, please make it stop' funny.

I get caught in swirling circular thoughts - weird abstract loops of meaningless that torment me all night. There's no way to explain them properly. But it's horrible. The other night I decided I'd be better off just waking up (even though I was very tired), just to escape the madness.

It made me think about torture.

(I should have included a third disclaimer: the sick man does not count a correct sense of proportion among his allies)

I think part of me - an entirely wrong part - thinks that I'd probably be able to stand up to torture. I mean, it's just willpower, isn't it? Other people might have a problem, but I could just get into a certain mindset and it wouldn't be too bad.

It's the same childish logic as thinking that I could probably be the fastest man in the world, if I could just focus properly. If I could unleash my full mental capacity, I could probably knock Usain Bolt into a cocked hat at speed.

But the flu dreams make me realise that this is ridiculous. When I'm dreaming sick dreams (not those kind) I don't know who I am, where I am, what physical laws exist. If this can happen as a result of a slight temperature, imagine how bad it would be if an evil torturer was pulling the strings (or tendons).

I'm going to try to not be tortured. If I have my way, I'll go through life without being tortured even once. I might make that a New Year's resolution.

So sleep is a problem. But so is being awake. I want to be lying down. I'm stuck between awake and a soft place.

The only other way to get through my day is to distract myself. That's what this blog is. If I have to concentrate on typing letters, forming words, constructing sentences etc, I'll probably cough a little less.

Yesterday I distracted myself by watching Singin' in the Rain, which I'd never seen before. It was good, though I think my capacity to appreciate it properly was hindered my mental state. It was impressive and bewildering.

Today, I've watched a lot of The Trip, which I've mentioned before.

I've decided that it is a fantastic piece of television - probably my favourite programme of the last few years. It's understated, beautifully shot, really funny. I could watch it all day. And I probably will.

The worst thing about my illness is that I've infected Lucy.

I feel guilty.

I suppose it was inevitable, given our close proximity. But I probably shouldn't have smeared my mucous onto her pillow and injected some of my blood into her liver. Still, it was inevitable really.

I don't know where this illness came from. It seemed to spring up on Saturday night. I blame Alan Shearer. I was watching him on TV and then: BOOM. Germ City.

Stupid Shearer.

I should have seen the signs when Alan Hansen gave his usual analysis from beneath a biohazard suit. It was muffled.

This can't have been an interesting read for anyone. But at least it distracted me for a little while.

***

(DISCLAIMER: The preceding post was an ironic comment on people who complain about being ill. I would never indulge in anything as pathetic as that.)