Written on Tuesday. Damn this machine!
OK, I've had enough. I felt SHITE on Sunday, I felt BOLLOCKS yesterday and I feel PANTS today. It's the usual so I knew it was coming, but does it have to be so rubbish?
Sunday was that thing with the London Mozart Players, and I was hoping I wouldn't have to sit next to one of these god-like creatures seeing as I can't really play either of the pieces. But I had to, because of the way we had set ourselves out. The day was really good, it was a good experience to be playing alongside them (yada yada yada), and it would have been better if I had not been ill.
I felt fine when we were on the bus. I felt fine when we got there. I even felt fine when I was hopelessly trying to play the Glinka. But about an hour into the first part of the rehearsal, something turned in my stomach and that familiar affliction... afflicted me. My right arm (my bowing arm - rather important) began to quiver and my mouth was slowly filling with saliva. Not as much as when it's full force attack sick mode, but enough to make me feel pretty crap. We had a short break not long after, and I cautiously drank a cup of mineral water.
Feeling like a rabid, wet rag, I sat on the floor where I was. Because only Helen was taking me seriously, I had a plastic cup put on my head by an unknown contributer. Standing up slowly, I dry-heaved* once, I dry-heaved twice, we ran to the girls'.
Our cunning plan failed. We ran into the blokes', and laughing at our mistake sent the bile back down my throat.
We went back in, and my arm was shaking again, making it even harder to play the fast bits. Cutting to lunch, I was feeling better and was able to eat my food, but I avoided offers of jaffa cakes. We went, I began to get a headache and increasingly tired, and by the second break I was tired enough to have a fleeting sleep on the most uncomfortable plastic chairs known to man. This would all have been fine had I been able to take one of my pills, but those things take precision timing. I couldn't take one because it would have made me sicker - that was just the warm-up.
This is basically a self-centred 'pity me' story, but you would want pity too if you got this regular as over-efficient clockwork. It continues:
Yesterday, Monday, I was prepared. I knew it was coming. The warning signs were there: the spit, the general feeling of mankness, the lot. I popped a pill at break, then proceeded to dry-heave for most of the middle lesson. I felt pretty damned awful today as well, but that was reduced by the fact that it was teacher strike and we didn't really do anything.
Harumph. Why do I have to feel so sick? What did I do?
But on Sunday, in response to a query of what was wrong with me, Helen told someone that I 'got it every month'. I was avoided for the rest of the day. I feel empowered!
*Dry-heaved as in my throat prepared itself to be sick and tried to cough up on me, I wasn't actually throwing up.
