Thanks all - on the next good day I will look into all of those, especially the reishi and the c60....
Today is a bad day, but it is in no way unusual. There are probably four of these days per week, with the remaining three being milder variations of the same basic structure.
Every day starts off in the same way. My alarms goes off. It doesn't really matter what time. The ringing hits me like a rogue lightning bolt, and, knocked temporarily out of the dreamless darkness, I frantically seek the source of the disquiet. As soon as I've hit the Sleep button on the alarm, my head is back on the pillow, and a semi-conscious battle starts in earnest.
My body feels disgusting, like the used husk of a nightclub after a fierce and frantic party. Every cell is sapped of energy, and there is an aggressive emptiness that can only be assuaged by further rest, by giving in to the all-powerful somnolence. The ten minute intervals of the alarm clock do battle with this insistent monster until finally there is enough conscious thought to understand the imperative of waking.
Once substantially awake and upright in bed, I take some time to contemplate my inner surroundings. Nausea is usually amongst the first to identify itself, a deep-rooted feeling of buried sickness and impending eruption, loitering in the background with the assured presence of one who knows he will always be noticed wherever he stands. Next, there is a numbness of thought that is perhaps the most terrifying assailant of all. The morning is supposed to be a time for genesis and creativity and ideas. Instead, there is a mocking fogginess which envelops the brain and prevents anything other than rudimentary anxieties or low-level observations. There is little in the way of accompanying emotion, no feelings of happiness or joy or excitement or curiousness; merely a vague and disquieted sense of apathy, and a determined readiness to survive the day ahead.
I put my headphones on. The music injects an exogenous emotional substitute which guards against the tense inner silence, and provides energy through distraction.
With military precision, the preparation begins. Blow nose. Wash face. Rinse sinuses with saline solution. Hawk, cough, splutter and eject every possible trace of mucous and blockage and sewage. Dry wretch several times. Administer intra-nasal fluticasone propionate. Already, there is better overall feeling. The body wants food, but the nausea objects. A compromise is reached, and we settle for a fruit & yoghurt smoothie which hits the throat like a drink but hits the stomach like a meal. This is chased with a double espresso, a grim nod to productivity.
Now we have reached an impasse. There is an overriding sense of weakness, dizziness & dislocation, but the overall level of competence is enough to perform basic tasks. I switch on my laptop, and begin to chip away at the stack of white-collar bureaucracy that is my daily grind. Every modicum of available energy is channelled into an endless chain of email exchanges and admin. It provides a release in some senses. A point of focus which is sometimes welcome, sometimes unwelcome.
By lunch-time, there is a ravenous hunger that not even the nausea can deny. The body is fuelled properly, and another double espresso wards off the digesting tiredness. A qualitative change has been enacted by this point. The mind is still vapid and shallow and largely redundant, but the body is starting to grow more confident in itself. I know that it is almost time to go to the gym, to exact my revenge on this gruesome monster and to flay him for his crimes. Squash is not an option - there is no balance or co-ordination or any of the motor-skills that deliver the required finesse. Instead, it's a quick sinus flush and I hop onto the treadmill armed with a set of headphones and the knowledge that I will soon be in control.
The exertion forces air through respiratory tracts that had discharged themselves of duty during the night, and the full-body sweat lends a complementary air of purgatory cleansing. After 10k, thoughts are starting to circulate in my head. There are ideas and emotional responses and observations that have a depth far exceeding any of their morning-shift colleagues. The light takes on a slightly different hue, and there is a clear sense of hope and optimism, a joy in the temporary illusion of control. Some yoga-based stretching and light weights do nothing to temper this progress, and by the time I get out the shower, the body seems to have made peace with itself, and the mind has rediscovered some of its purpose.
I bathe in this afterglow, tapping the energy to attempt some of the more complex tasks demanded by the day. A tricky call. A problem in need of creative resolution. Pre-planning for trials ahead.
The day fizzles out. It has been tough. I have achieved less than I would have liked, less than many would have achieved with half the effort, but, it is honours even. Maybe tomorrow will be a good day.
And the alarm goes off, and the battle begins again....
