A Great Catastrophe.
Friday I am leaving for a 10 day vacation with my beloved BB, overseas in a glorious and idyllic locale, for some direly-needed and much-deserved time off. And wouldn’t you know it, today I feel mildly ill. I’m probably going to be feeling slightly worse than merely jet lagged for the first day or two of the trip. I don’t know what I did to deserve this punishment from a vindictive God. It’s not fair. It’s not just. I deserve better.
OK. Obviously, it’s kind of a bummer to get sick at the beginning of a vacation, but I’m sure I’ll be fine and I’m incredibly grateful to have the kind of opportunity I have to see the world. Being mildly sick is no biggie. I’ve traveled sick before and I will again, and I just needed to get the self-pity out of the way. Sorry about that. That was ugly.
Things are good. I’m happy, my professional life is progressing. My relationship is strong. I am approaching, rapidly, seven years of sobriety. I’ll be overseas for my birthday, and I’m hopeful that I can find a foreign-language coin to add to my collection. I’ve looked up meetings, and it looks like there might be and English-language meeting the day after my anniversary in the town we’re likely to be in.
I’m eager to go. I’m tired at work, and I’ve been unproductive for weeks. I need a break if I’m going to attack my next big project the way it deserves. But overall, things are very exciting. I’m getting some actual press for a paper I wrote. I’m moving ever closer to having my own semi-independent, 100% hard money laboratory. And my house is finally not leaking anywhere, near as I can tell. I couldn’t be happier.
It’s crucial for me to remember these things when I want to feel sorry for myself that I might be mildly sick for the first couple days of a vacation. So what.