Friday, 27 May 2016

Man flu

It's fine, I say. I'm still able to work.

It's true, you know. I can think coherently. I can walk, I can run, I can communicate, I can do my job.

But I just sat down alone in a quiet room.

My head is heavy, my forehead is inexplicably mis-sized. When I close my eyes there are high pressured cavities the size of golf balls in my sinuses and my forehead protrudes several inches further forwards than normal. My ears are hot and empty and yet I hear everything through my nose.

When I close my eyes I want to keep them closed - the lines of the sealed lids is hot and dry and when I open them my eyes will feel soggy for no reason. My hair roots itch and the floor is too close. I want to stretch upwards, away from it, but it makes me dizzy - as though vertigo has a grip on me.

I'm tired. So tired I could cry.

My throat vacillates between sore, tender, dry and claggy. Each time I swallow my ears try to pop. There is moisture wrapped around my uvula and my tonsils are extending their grip into the roots of my brain. I can't taste anything or smell anything, but I am convinced I am unclean and stench-ridden.

But I'm fine. I can write this. I can walk. I can run (briefly). I can work. I can do it all.

I don't want to. I want to stay in bed and sleep for days. I want to recline on my sofa and feel secure. I want to not have to think. But if I stay at home watching TV then other people will have to do my work and frankly, they can't. Or, in the case of some of the less pleasant aspects, shouldn't have to.