I get sick a lot. I get migraines and stomach-aches and easily pick up colds. And this week I am not feeling very well (it is the middle one).
Predictably, I now feel out of any social or academic loops. My motivation seems tainted, now, as if in providing a little less than perfect attendance, I am working a lot less hard. And yet I feel like I am doing the same amount of work. I feel a bit of a bad friend and a bit of a rubbish student and a bit like all the inspiring things I am feeling and thinking about are not being used in the right way; they are not being practised in the right domain. I should be stronger. I should be as strong as the thousands of other people who, unwell, get up and go about their lives in a very ordinary way. And yet it feels like a brick (the one that would allow me to do that) is missing.
I know that in a few days I will be back on track and I will be writing essays and I will be finishing books. And yet now, right now, my axis feels a little bit tilted.
Today, I am the meaning of feeling sorry for yourself.