All of a sudden, healthy cereal and granola bars trigger a series of unfortunate events in my body.
I have a new litany of discomforts and complaints--a daily low-grade fever by noon that resolves around supper time. I'm neither sick nor healthy, and I'm pretty sure I'm not dying or a raving hypochondriac--although I wouldn't rule out either as a possibility.
I secretly enjoy the daily quiet time in bed surrounded by cats and dogs. I work on my French with You Tube video tutorials. I'm writing this on my tablet from bed. My temp is 100 and I have a headache...but I'm soldiering on, because if this is going to be an every-day thing, I'm going to have to adapt, be productive, and multi-task while resting.
I refuse to let this devolve into a journal of woes. I haven't got anything wrong with me that is tragic or curious. It's chronic and stupid; it insists on naps and layers of sunscreen. It's unsubstantiated by lab results--my auto-immune thing wants nothing to do with this lowly condition.
I research my symptoms on-line and find nothing but scrolls of ranting over symptoms without measurable cause or concern, ailments for which medication is dispensed that cures in two days for only two weeks.
Most people have chronic pain of one kind or another. Knees, hips, mended bones, allergies, lactose/glucose intolerance, migraines, plantar fasciitis, arthritis...not to mention emotional pain or even the pursuit of pain and suffering through strenuous exercise. Feel the burn. The climate, physically and politically, is illing, so why shouldn't I?
It's a borderline thing--more condition than disease. And frankly, I don't want to spend my best hours of the day obsessively researching it. It would be more like bickering than fighting. It's the chronic yet not acute malaise that the AMA treats with a shrug--because they don't know what it is, but it's nothing more than an inconvenience to me. People aren't going to march in the streets for something as vague as a generalized allergy--a disagreeable response to granola bars and the infinitesimally small insults to my physiognomy on such a sunny day.
So, things don't get done sometimes. Everybody eats. I take some time out of the day to dither, idly wondering if it's still necessary to dither or has it simply become a bad habit. This would definitely be a problem if I had an office job. Fortunately, I don't.
More's the pity for anyone with some chronic medical mystery if they can't step away from the treadmill when they need to (like pregnant women and women with cramps who must never complain or show weakness, lest they bring down the entire feminist movement--that's a lot of pressure!).
I'm fine. I just need to rest, like the cat who keeps me in good company. She has no excuse for needing as much sleep as she takes, but she doesn't reproach herself, not once. Fight it, kitty! Fight! ...She isn't even listening...so shamelessly content to be asleep!