The Great Hypnotherapy Project will be slightly delayed owing to the unexpectedly protracted illness of the guinea pig.
It's probably to the benefit of the project. This bout of whatever has left me more like a real guinea pig: gentle and slow moving, with a soft, soft underbelly in need of protection. Fewer barriers to break down, fewer gates to storm. Purged of the vices one is allowed to accumulate when one is higher up in the food chain. Vices are bad for self-development, right?
The funny thing was, there were parts of this illness I enjoyed. A week ago tonight, I was almost merry as I drove to pick up my Tom Yum Goong and other assorted verboten treats. Workaholics don't take vacations; we get sick, and watch our DVDs and take our hot baths and eat our comfort food.
Only this cold wouldn't go away when I wanted it to. So I pushed it aside for a few hours on Thursday night to get inducted as Chief Nerd at my Toastmasters club, and became twice as ill as punishment, even, in an ironic touch, losing my voice for two full days.
I finally gave in Friday night. If there is was a 12-step program for control freaks, I gave myself up to it, admitting myself powerlessness in the face of the Illness' grip on me. I cried in the shower even, bargaining with God to give me back my voice. I would redouble my efforts to use it for the powers of good, not evil. There are no atheists in foxholes and 95ºF apartments, it would seem.
I'm better today. Foggy, but better. I see some light at the end of this tunnel, faint, but it's there. It will probably be a week of nothing much and not too often. But I have promised two medium-sized children that I will see them again before they toddle back to the Midwest for the rest of their summer. And so I will be better soon.
In fact, I feel better already...