When I’m sick, I try–as much as possible–to stick to my normal routines. For instance, I did my two hours of writing this morning and I read Doctor Zhivago (which might be the most flawless book I’ve ever read) for an hour and now I am writing this blog post. But it is strange, because I know that, on an emotional level, this day is not going to be as good as tomorrow will be. And that makes me want to just write the day off and lay in bed until tomorrow.
To a certain extent, I’ve done that: I didn’t go to the gym, I didn’t go to class, I’m eating more than my diet would normally allow for.
But there’s very little I hate more than the feeling that I am just waiting for tomorrow to arrive, because when I get in that mood, then there’s a temptation to engage in activities that annihilate the self, like drinking to unconsciousness or watching fourteen straight hours of television. And yet, why would I want to remain in the present moment when that moment is somewhat unpleasant?
I don’t want to engage in hyperbole: I’ve got a cold, not cancer. But there’s a larger point to be made. Sometimes we’re trapped for weeks, months, or years, in situations that we know are sub-optimal. At those junctures, sometimes the best thing to do (for whatever your personal definition of ‘best’ happens to be) is to act to escape. But sometimes the best thing to do is to stay.
Ugh, I don’t know, I am going to go and lie in bed.