I’ve got some thinking done while laying in bed with a fever watching The Walking Dead. From the beginning. I like The Walking Dead.
I just have fever, a little bit of a runny nose, maybe a cough, but mostly… I have a fever. That’s odd. I never get just a fever. A fever for me is normally a consequence of your body fighting a bad influenza or a herd of amoebas taking up residence. Now, I have a fever, that’s about it. I had two very stressing, emotionally taxing, physically hard weeks leading up to this. And after that I was ready to just jump and go all in with my studies… Mid jump my body seemed to have gone: “No, I’m making an executive decision here, you are resting.” And I went down with a bam, smack in the ground.
I’m laying here going “What are you trying to tell me body? I’m fine, I promise.” My body just keeps shooting the fever. I don’t know. Maybe I’m not as fine as I want to be. My entire right side of my back is actually fucked. I have three major knots, one in my lower back, one along my shoulder-blade and one in my shoulder. I sit and I try to pressure point them, imagining how they are oozing infections out in the rest of my body.
Perhaps I know to well how it feels if you let go and really allow yourself to grieve the loss of someone you cared so much for. Perhaps I know it will do my head in and I have decided to succeed at PT-school and don’t have time to be all messed up and a sobbing wreck right now. So it feels as my entire body is infected with the grief I’m refusing to deal with.
I lay here and try to do what I think my body wants from me. “You got me down here, body” I say, “Do your thing. Grieve then, if that is what you wanted.” But nothing happens, I watch The Walking Dead and the fever rages on.