This week my body has compelled me to long periods of time with it. Alone. Now, this is not to say that I don't already spend a lot of time with my body. It's not like it vacations in St. Barts while I check out the sights of San Diego! Me and my body are inseparable, just like everyone else. But you get used to running around doing your thing, you know, a little thing we like to call life when WHAM! your body nails you. That's been my week.
On Monday, I was feeling fantastic! I was perky, I was playful, I was dancing in strawberry fields...you get the idea. I was gooooood! Then, at about 3.45pm (give or take- I didn't document the exact moment it occurred) a small herd of elephants decided to leave the Serengeti and instead set up residence on my chest. By the time my shift finished a few hrs later my voice had gone AWOL and breathing had become an art form.
The Doctors visit the next day confirmed the obvious. Yes, I was sick. A chest infection had formed an alliance against me and now it was up to my body and the many drugs the doctor had given me to head off the attack.
It's now Saturday and I'm over the self-imposed solitude. And for the first time in days, the pangs of hunger indicated that perhaps it was time to eat. I had tried foraging a few times with limited results. Now as I ransacked the kitchen once more I realized that it was the mall or the remnants of the peanut butter jar. I found some cheese in the fridge which gave me false hope at first. Till I looked at it. Covered in mold (and not the good kind) and the expiry date (let's not go there) suggested this cheese would not be eaten by me or anyone else. (Note to self: At least try to look in the fridge once in a while!) So with moldy cheese and peanut butter as the deciding factor there was no choice but to get out of the house.
I had avoided the mall for the following reasons. Firstly, I hate the mall, especially on the weekends. It's loud and crowded and I detest those little shops that aren't really shops, you know the ones where you avoid making eye contact and pretend to be deaf (or on the phone) in the vain hope they won't accost you trying to sell hand cream or hair curlers or other nonsense as you try to make your way past them. The mall would be full of boys with Beiber haircuts, giggling pre-teen girls and babies who cried altogether too much for my liking. The second reason was because I really don't like the selection of food at the food court. I'm trying to eat healthier so McDonald's and KFC were out. That left Sushi and fish and chips (allergic), roast meals (I make better ones myself for less cost) Indian, Kebabs or Chinese. I almost always choose Indian because its my favorite food in the entire world. But I wasn't in the mood for Indian. Problem was, I wasn't in the mood for anything. So, I went, knowing that I should eat, but not really wanting to. Even my stomach grumbling showed signs it was in need of nourishment. But when I got there, nothing looked appetizing. I waited, expecting my tummy to groan approval at something, anything. Nothing excited the palate. Nothing got my mouth watering. Nothing made my stomach roll around in eager anticipation. I was on my own. This wasn't good. Frantic texts to trusted sources. "Pizza" "Turkish" came back the response. My tummy disagreed. Eventually I went with Chinese. Noodles, vegetables and sweet and sour chicken. It was like eating rubber. Probably worse. The vegetables, which had looked lush and inviting on the plate were old and dull in my mouth. The sweet and sour chicken was neither sweet nor sour, simply blah and the noodles should have just been ashamed of themselves.
Which brings me to my point: Did my disappointment stem from the food being generally bad, or did I expect it to be bad and thus create my own outcome? Was the food bad because my taste buds are still on hiatus or is that all one can expect from a food court foray? I gave up after a few mouthfuls. My stomach grumbled. "You choose next time then." I inwardly scolded it.
Guess I'll be eating that peanut butter tonight after all.
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