sleep is for the weak. or, you know, the healthy.

A conversation I had this morning with one of my favorite cousins reminded me that I have been neglecting this medium recently. Also, it makes me really happy when people don’t act surprised when they find out that I am capable of stringing words together to form coherent sentences. But that topic may be explored at a later time.

What I do want to focus on today is the neglect part of the above paragraph. I know how clichéd it is for a blogger to come back from a hiatus, mouth running with the typical “ehmagawd I’m soooo sorry but I’ve been like super busy and stuff and I was sick but I’m here now and I’m gonna be better than ever” then cease to blog, thus creating the endless cycle.

But I swear to you, I have been very busy. And I am now sick. And the previous paragraph will provide enough motivation for me to keep writing, because I am too damn proud for my own good.

Now that my disclaimer is out of the way, on with story time.

It is no secret that I am a hypochondriac. I suppose a weak immune system lends itself nicely to this little quirk of mine, as it results in minor, yet frequent ailments that feed my neuroses. The times when I find myself between ailments, I become hyperparanoid that anything out of the ordinary may or may not be the first symptom of my next ailment (never mind the fact that it is difficult to gauge what is ordinary when one is so often sick. I like to think of it as feeling nothing). And, no, self-awareness does not “cure” hypochondria. At least, not according to my personal experience, nor to the online search I just did on my phone.

So when I do actually become ill with more than the common cold, my paranoia takes on some very strange characteristics. Firstly, it is smug in that it is proven correct, even though it means that I am, in fact, sick. Secondly, and perhaps more logically, it is magnified at least tenfold.

Either in Manila or on the plane leaving Manila or from one of the airports, I managed to contract the stomach flu. I hate talking about the stomach flu, mostly because when people hear that I have it, they imagine me in a most unflattering way. But, as I am a mature adult grown-up, I will move past it. I am sick, and have been since Sunday. It happens to everyone.

Once it was established that I was so stricken, I began to freak out. I found myself wondering whether there were dietary rules that I was breaking because I was unaware of their existence, what the maximum distance between me and a restroom could be for an extended period of time, and what foods would be the least unpleasant coming up as going down.

Last night, during which I did not sleep at all, that anxiety contributed to my already weakened state. My only goal of the night was not to sully my sheets, so I focused all my energy on not moving my body, lest I upset either end. But quieting my movements did nothing to quiet my mind. I lay there, watching the sun gradually climb up my blinds like a ladder, mocking me with its cheery color. When I deemed it late enough (definitely before 7), I pawed pitifully at my mom’s bedroom door until she let me in. Once she left for work, I was finally able to feel the sweet release. No, not that kind. The sweet release of sleep.

Which is why I am posting this at about 6pm. I just woke up.