Thursday, 10 March 2016

On being ill

No, this is not a post about Virginia Woolf's essay. 
This is about me- I've been sick since Saturday. Fever (I've never been hotter, at least over the past year). Runny and stuffy nose, which, as though that's not bad enough, became extremely painful after several blows. Trouble breathing, as a result. Sneezing. Bad, very bad cough (I've had a cough since, I don't know, December, which when bad was compared to the sounds of a chicken and which was about to disappear before I fell sick again on Saturday). Sore throat, as a result. A few times I was dizzy and thought I was about to faint (which reminds me, I've never fainted in my life, not even once); and a few times felt nauseated, but, having hardly eaten anything, had nothing to vomit up. My condition was a lot worsened yesterday, for whatever reasons- my whole body was in pain, as though every bone, every muscle, every fibre of my being was in pain. Not only so, I had a headache, and my feverish face became so red that I could hardly recognise myself in the mirror (I can, of course, I just don't like the idea that I really look like that). 
All right, no worries, I'm a bit better now. Except that there's blood in my mucus, everything else seems to improve, in a few days I can be up and running again. 
Only when I get sick do I remember how good it is to be well. 
So much self-centredness in this post. Let's see. These days, I stayed home listening to love songs of the 80s, watching again Play It Again, Sam (starring that whiny, cynical Woody Allen, yes), following the elections in the US (and losing sleep over 1 question: why does Donald Trump keep winning?), playing Word Ladder and reading Moby-Dick. Let's talk about these. 


  1. No, let us talk about your mirror. Could it have been bewitched, you think?

  2. Di,

    Sorry to hear you have been ill. Granny's prescription: hot tea, honey, and brandy.

    I hope you get well soon.

  3. nicrap,
    "Mirror, mirror in the wall..." Yes! It could very well be bewitched.

    Thank you, Fred and Tim. Now how can I get some brandy?

    1. Call me Nik if you please.... Speaking of the talking mirror, have you heard of the talking shell?

    2. Oh yes, introduce yourself. Where do you come from? How did you get here? And so on and so forth.
      No, I haven't heard of the talking shell. Thanks for sharing.

  4. You show me something that you have written and i will tell you all about me ... so on and so forth included. :p

    1. Well my blog posts are "something I have written". So answer!

    2. My bad. Sorry. I didn't mean to be rude. I just thought ... something gave me the wrong idea that you were referring to some work of fiction of yours.... Anyway.

      Now to the answer to your question: I am a writer who, well, who sits and writes, and when he is not writing, which is more often the case, just sits. I am 37 years old.

      Where do i come from? Where do we all come from? (Hint: A word or even a phrase.) The less interesting answer, however, is: India.

      How did i get here? From R.T.'s blog — Beyond Eastrod, is it? — which, incidentally, he shut down the very first day i commented there. ;)

      Your turn.

    3. I was just playing with you. I did write some fiction. Hahahaha.

  5. Nick . . . yes, Beyond Eastrod is inactive, but The Writers' Almanac (my new blog) is alive and well.