contaminated.

Every time I fall ill, my body gets a chance to reset itself.

And it always tries to, even after three and a half years of working irregular hours. It always tries to.

I – mercifully – stop worrying, because there is only one thing for me to do: get well. I sleep lots, and I sleep early. I wake early too, have breakfast at breakfast hour, and would have done so much more by the time the clock hits 12pm, then I normally would have.

Everything’s great, including – and very possibly especially – the wallowing in self-pity, which feels totally justified. Until of course, I start getting better. Then, bugger all, everything returns to the way it was.

I cannot seem to relax, because I’m hyper aware that there is an expiry date on leisure time. These thoughts stick in my head: What are you doing with your free time? Are you wasting it?

No matter what I’m doing, I am consumed by the manic thought that I must make full use of this precious time. Time is not for wasting.

So, while on medical leave, I can be trying to take things easy, just lazing in front of the TV, spending time with my pet rabbits etc… but I’m in a sort of frozen panic mode. Then, when I look at the clock after any activity, I kinda unfreeze into full-blown neurosis – realising that two hours have passed, for instance, and I have achieved nothing.

I have nothing physical, material, to show for it. Nothing to show myself.

Which is not to say that I find relaxation, intrinsically, a chore. I merely find it incredibly difficult to let go of the notion that time is limited, and if I don’t maximise its use, it’s gone and I have to go back to work. Especially as this is the time I wish for myself, every single day, five days a week.

Constantly aware time’s slipping by, I mentally police the passage of time by recounting what I did since square one, while I’ve physically moved on. Like recounting what I did from the moment I woke – to drill into my skull that I did do something. Sometimes I recount, minute to minute. Yes, you can’t relax at all this way.

Let me tell you right away that this has unhealthy repercussions, because you lose trust in yourself. And you begin to really exhibit signs of medical neurosis, repeating certain actions unnecessarily to demonstrate to yourself that, yes, you have indeed done something.

I am clear on what is most important to me in life. Yet this happens to me often, even when I’m on a holiday. Therefore I extend my “me” time by sleeping late, so I can do more.

And my health gets affected again.

I guess if everything is a matter of perspective, maybe the viral infections I keep getting are actually blessings, and it is I who is the virus.

And maybe, like all bugs, I flourish in contamination.