Two days ago I got the flu, bad, with a fever, runny nose, chesty cough and aching bones. It reminded me (once again) of how incredibly lucky I am to live a healthy life, with enough money to buy medicine and food whenever I need it. Furthermore, it reminded me of how much I enjoy working out on a regular basis. It’s funny how my energy levels plummet (and no, it’s not just the flu), my concentration seems to perish, and anything other than lying in bed for a “24” marathon feels inexplicably demanding after just two days of staying home from the gym. Saying goodbye to Ariz as my mum dropped him off earlier today adds just a little bit of a bitter touch to the whole thing.
And even though I want to finish my university work for the day, my eyes droop, as my mind promises it’ll let me concentrate on academics if it can just bargain with the body for even a ten-minute walk on the treadmill. Then I cough, and swallow with some difficulty, reminding my body that I am, in fact, sick with the flu. It sighs. Fine then, keep your droopy eyes and wandering thoughts. We can wait. I smile, because the (bitter)sweetness to it is, I really can’t.
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