Yesterday started off very well. I got up early in the morning to go to a 5K (about 3 miles) walk / run (I'm not exactly out-of-shape, but I'm not exactly in shape enough to run that distance, so I walked) that was a fund-raiser for the mental health clinic I go to. It felt good to be outside, and to see all the other people willing to help support such a great place.
Oh, for those people in sensible countries that have government-funded health insurance, I'd like to repeat what you probably already know: Such a thing doesn't exist in the US. I, and many other people, need to see a psychiatrist, but cannot afford to do so on our own. Fortunately, there are some mental health clinics that charge significantly-reduced rates and are largely sponsored by donations and the occasional government grant.
So, I had a nice walk and enjoyed the company of other people trying to make a difference in their community. Shortly after the walk, however, I started to feel a little ill, but I chose to ignore the feeling. I had to work in the afternoon, so I headed out the door figuring a little work would distract me from feeling sick . . .
I got to work early, and, since I work at a store, there was a place to sit outside and smoke, and sit and smoke I did. For about one cigarette. After that, there was no question: I was ill, and the proof of this was all over the ground in front of me (if you get my meaning). I smiled as if it was a joke at the people walking into the store, walked in there myself, and explained to my boss that I was VERY ill and needed the day off. "Oh, well, you'll need to write the order tomorrow, then," she says. In case I've never mentioned it, I order the stock for the over-the-counter (non-prescription) medicines department, and the orders have to be made by 2 PM on Mondays. Normally, Mondays are my day off, but that's the price of responsibility, I guess. I told my boss I'd write the order on Monday, and left.
Well, she decided that "I'll write the order tomorrow," meant, "I'll work a full shift tomorrow and be just fine." That was NOT the case. I BARELY felt better this morning, and was still questioning whether solid foods were safe to eat when I arrived. So, my boss and I had a bit of a disagreement, but she eventually saw my point. She wasn't happy about it, but she let me leave after ordering.
So . . . I'm feeling a LOT better, and solid foods such as bananas and toast seem to be staying where they belong, so things are looking up, and I suspect I'll be able to work tomorrow (in fact, I promised my boss I would). In the meantime, I've been entertaining some strange thoughts . . .
Some people DIE from food poisoning. I wasn't in any danger of dying, but this is the first time I really THOUGHT of it. I'd always had the strange thought in my head that, if I don't kill myself, I'll never die. I'm clumsy, and I've wound up in the hospital a few times with some stupid injuries that probably could have killed me, but I never thought about it. In fact, I even used to joke about it. I'd tell friends, "If I haven't died yet, I'm not likely to."
But, this time I had an epiphany . . . I might die tomorrow, and I need to do more things that make me happy, and more things that take care of ME. If this illness had been serious enough, my last thought may have been "I have to head in to work." What kind of life is that?
I mean, I rather like my job, and it's about as good as it's going to get any time soon, but . . . it can't take up as much of my time and my thoughts as it currently does. And I can't continue to do nothing to improve my job situation. If I don't try to improve my situation, now, when WILL I?
Maybe those thoughts weren't as weird as I said, but they were unusual for me . . .
Take care, kats and kittens.