Life

Pumpkin Party Pooper

I’m currently sitting on the sofa in my bedroom pleading my eyes to stay open. I feel a little bit pathetic at the moment. Nearly two weeks ago, I got some sort of virus. Initially I thought it was the common cold and I just wasn’t handling it too well, but then I got a bad fever and spent the best part of two days in bed. I went back to work and still felt pretty rotten, but was keen to get going again. I was still run down until the middle of last week, but then started perking up and, though wiped out, I felt more human by Wednesday. I had annual leave from Thursday to Sunday, so I met up with a friend in London on Friday and then went for a weekend away with another friend.

We had a lovely, peaceful time away from the world in a shepherd’s hut just outside Winchester. I slept until late morning on both nights, which isn’t something I usually do, especially when I’m away from my own bed. On our journey home, we stumbled by chance on an amazing pumpkin patch off the A272. At the age of 22, I’d still never carved a pumpkin or picked one from a patch, so I wanted to find the perfect one. I don’t remember which one of us was the winning pumpkin picker, but we found it early on in our search, and I then carried it around with me for the next hour while we compared it to every other pumpkin in the patch to make sure it definitely was the most perfect pumpkin. My pumpkin is called Jerry, just in case you were interested. He looks like Jack Skellington, because I’m a pretty big fan and Jerry likes fancy dress.

I got home and was wiped out on Sunday evening. I struggled to get myself going on Monday morning, noticeably more so than usual. I got to work and was sent home sick because I found it so hard to stay awake that couldn’t drive. I had to abandon my car and get the train home.

I wasn’t able to see my doctor, but my pharmacist said it’s more than likely that I did have flu and started doing too much when I felt better, then didn’t recover properly. Now I have viral fatigue. I’m supposed to rest and do as little as possible until it gets better, or it can end up lasting for months. I slept for 14 hours yesterday, and I’m still regularly nodding off while I’m in the middle of doing things. I wanted to have a bath last night but it didn’t seem safe or wise in case I fell asleep. Even as I’m writing this, I’m blinking and realising that my eyes been shut for a few seconds too long, so have to force them to open again.

It feels so strange. I’m zapped and can’t really function, but I don’t feel ill. I just feel really, really tired. I hate being off work. A year ago, I’d have felt grateful for a sick day, but I love being at work. The thought of having a week off (aside from 2 hours yesterday morning) feels rubbish, especially when I can’t do much of anything. My mum is picking me up later to take me to the Co-op so I can get out of the house and buy a cherry pie. Cherry pie makes me happy.

I got out of bed less than two hours ago, but I think I’m going to have a nap and then start building my Princess Leia Lego Brickheadz. I tried to read my book yesterday, but the words quickly went blurry and sent me to sleep. I’m still hopeful that I’ll make it up to London for my internship tomorrow, but I think that maybe I’m being optimistic.

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