A reader recently sent me an e‑mail. This was the last paragraph:
Lastly and please don’t take this as being bold, I want to keep reading and one day read that you are nothing but happy and fulfilled. I would never post a comment because I am too shy and also pretty prone to being embarrassed by people who are cooler than me (and I consider people who blog as people who are cooler then me), but many times when I read your entries I feel like I am watching a protagonist in a favourite movie or re-reading Siddhartha. Does that make any sense to you? I’m cheering you on and I’m in your corner.
It made me wonder: if she wants to read that I’m happy one day, does that mean that I’m not happy now? It forced the realization in me that the answer is no. Obviously no. Life isn’t great. But do I only write about the bad stuff? I’ve always believed that you have to suffer to create. I’m one of those, so maybe this is the case. I imagine it’s the opposite with my Tai Chi or table tennis partners, who must think my life is perfect, because of how happy I am when I’m doing those activities.
It also made me wonder how much of myself is revealed here. Someone once told me that she sees two different sides of me: one who is serious and intimidating from the things I write, and another who is easy-going and relaxed over the phone.
So what comes through in my words? Certainly not everything. But it’s the same as anything else, because it’s hard to get a total picture of someone, unless, perhaps, you spend an appropriately uncomfortable amount of time with them.
On nights like this, when I’ve been in the house by myself all day, I have a craving for something. Not just for a taste, but an experience, among the lights and the shadows.
A while ago, I found the right place with the right ambiance. A place without the distractions of my house. Where I can write without thinking of what other work I should be doing.
I always tell myself that I’ll go tomorrow. It’s always tomorrow (the same day that most diets start). So I force myself to get in the car and drive.
When I walk in, I have to remember the nomenclature. Tall means small, grande means medium, venti means large.
Along with this craving comes a thirst for something sweet and warm to drink, harking to the days I lived unemployed, and my favourite thing to do was drink all sorts of strong coffees and teas. My stomach will pay for this later.
The cups always feel nice in the hand. Maybe I’m a sucker for good design — the pure white, the clean lines, the textured insulating sleeve with prominent corporate logo.
Sometimes, I need to go out to be alone. A warm drink is company enough.
One of the drugs I’ve been prescribed for my colitis, Asacol, is delay-released, which means it has a special coating that makes it travel through the stomach, and absorbed only in the colon. This specific brand is released in the left and end of the colon, which is where my colitis is. I often get conflicting advice about how to take the drug:
- The instructions that came with the medication say it can be taken with or without food
- The first pharmacist told me to wait an hour after eating before taking the pills
- The second pharmacist told me I didn’t need to wait and could have it with food and other medications
- The third pharmacist told me that delayed release drugs should be taken on an empty stomach, and may have conflicts with other drugs
- My gastrointestinal specialist told me I could take it with food
It’s generally taken that the doctor’s advice takes precedence over anything else. But as a person who works in the medical industry, where doctors are frequently revealed to be incompetent, I know that not all of them know what they’re talking about.
Scary, for an industry in which we put so much blind faith. Who am I supposed to believe?