SICK SCORECARD: BODY-1, MIND-0

For me, one of the best opening lines in literature comes from Poe's "The Pit and The Pendulum": I was sick, sick unto death with that long agony, and when they at length unbound me, and I was permitted to sit, I felt that my senses were leaving me. For the purpose of this week's piece though, I'm going to edit that line to say; I am gawd-awfully sick and I know my senses have left me.

On Monday I thought something wasn't quite right, but I chalked it up to fatigue. However on Tuesday, I knew I was in a bad way. That feeling was confirmed when my boss, who has sympathy for no man or woman told me I didn't look well and to my complete shock, suggested I go home for the day as soon as my workload permitted. It is now Thursday, and I'm still sick, at the office, and after a few days of confused thinking have come to the conclusion that we don't fully realize what being sick does to the mind, as well as the body. For example, my normal writing routine is to kick around ideas on Tuesday, begin writing on Wednesday, make changes on Thursday, and publish no later than Saturday evening. But, this week I could have cared less about any of it. By Tuesday I was completely convinced this column was a waste of time and that I was only a hack writer with not an original thought in my head. In addition to this, I was convinced that my house was a mess, my car was worthless, my job was a disaster, my face was ugly, my hair is dangerously thinning, and life as I know it, was no longer worth living.

But after being depressed for just under 72 hours, it all makes sense. I'm sick, and my body wants and needs rest. Unfortunately in our society it seems a person isn't allowed to be ill; our daily schedules and rigid corporate policies simply will not permit it. So, we carry on working, shopping, doing housework, etcetera as if there's nothing wrong and, based on my befuddled thought processes, I don't think my body is sitting still for it. Whether I like it or not, it's telling me, "I don't want you to write, work, cook, shop, do laundry, clean, or any of that nonsense, and to be sure you don't, I'm going to have the brain confuse you so bad that you won't want to do any of it either."

You know what? It's working because I am now certain that while I'm sick anything I write, anything I do or say, or any decision I make is going to be completely wrong. So I think I'll just pack it in, do what my body wants and get some rest, taking comfort in the knowledge that when I'm well, my writing will no longer be garbage, my column isn't a waste of time, my house is gorgeous, my car is tip-top, my job is a dream, I still look good for my age, and life is indeed worth living again. Unfortunately, I'm fairly sure my hair will still be dangerously thinning, but I'll deal with that when I'm feeling better. Stay well, readers.