bloodied but unbowed
Monday, 21 May 2007 09:31 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
freckles_and_doubtIt's been an interesting weekend, in the sense of the old Chinese curse - torrential downpours, gastric inflictions, and the wilful refusal of the wireless connection to load web pages all weekend. This must be Web 2.0, mere e-mail simply doesn't do it for me any more. Twitch.
I personally love this weather, although I am guiltily aware that the folks in Gugulethu and other shanty towns are not enjoying the flooding, collapsed huts and cold. But waking up at night to hear the rain on the roof applies all sorts of balm to my Zimbabwean soul, shaped as it was by horrible drought experiences. And this morning was beautiful: clear and crisp in a way that makes me realise (a) hey, these contact lenses are really much better than my old ones, and (b) how pervasive the smog layer usually is. The air bites, and smells of the snow in Ceres. I can feel my brain waking up. Go, brain!
I'm sure Emily Post would insist that a lady shouldn't discuss her bowels in public, but mine's irritably demanding to be discussed. Since it forced me to spend Friday nauseated and bent over clutching my stomach, I'm inclined to listen to it. Friday evening was notable for my growing fear that this was actually something serious, like an exploding appendix or a chestburster with no actual sense of direction. I went to bed at 8pm expecting to toss, moan and call for an ambulance, and promptly slept for 12 hours, fortunately awakening with no more than a slight cramp. Apparently IBS is triggered by many of my favourite indulgences, including booze, caffeine, fatty and spicy foods and codeine, all of which I had on Thursday night. If this continues, life may not actually be worth living.
Then again, the Evil Landlord came back on Saturday afternoon to find me in a slight relapse, curled on the couch in the foetal position and moaning, and distracted me nicely from my ills by randomly showering me with Naga jewellery he just happened to have bought. He can be quite sweet, really.
I personally love this weather, although I am guiltily aware that the folks in Gugulethu and other shanty towns are not enjoying the flooding, collapsed huts and cold. But waking up at night to hear the rain on the roof applies all sorts of balm to my Zimbabwean soul, shaped as it was by horrible drought experiences. And this morning was beautiful: clear and crisp in a way that makes me realise (a) hey, these contact lenses are really much better than my old ones, and (b) how pervasive the smog layer usually is. The air bites, and smells of the snow in Ceres. I can feel my brain waking up. Go, brain!
I'm sure Emily Post would insist that a lady shouldn't discuss her bowels in public, but mine's irritably demanding to be discussed. Since it forced me to spend Friday nauseated and bent over clutching my stomach, I'm inclined to listen to it. Friday evening was notable for my growing fear that this was actually something serious, like an exploding appendix or a chestburster with no actual sense of direction. I went to bed at 8pm expecting to toss, moan and call for an ambulance, and promptly slept for 12 hours, fortunately awakening with no more than a slight cramp. Apparently IBS is triggered by many of my favourite indulgences, including booze, caffeine, fatty and spicy foods and codeine, all of which I had on Thursday night. If this continues, life may not actually be worth living.
Then again, the Evil Landlord came back on Saturday afternoon to find me in a slight relapse, curled on the couch in the foetal position and moaning, and distracted me nicely from my ills by randomly showering me with Naga jewellery he just happened to have bought. He can be quite sweet, really.
