#oneaday Day 528: Autumn plague

Andie and I were ill all over the weekend. Nothing serious — and thankfully not COVID, which we were both concerned it might have been — but the kind of cold that is just enough to be moderately debilitating and make you want to stay in bed for a good 75% of the day.

I think we're both over the worst, but we've both been left exceedingly exhausted, as neither of us have slept very well for the past two or three nights. Hopefully tonight will allow me to get a decent rest, as tomorrow I have to do a long drive for the monthly trip into the office — though it should (should!) be moderately less stressful as I'm driving down in the daytime in order to attend in the afternoon, and then I have the following day off work completely.

With all that in mind, a proportion of today has been spent napping, and I suspect an early night will follow. I genuinely couldn't keep my eyes open by the end of the morning's work, and so my lunch break was spent not eating and watching some TV, but just napping. It was nice.

A middle-of-the-day nap is not something I really started doing until a few years ago, and I'm aware that it can mess up your sleep schedule and all that business. But sometimes it's just nice to allow yourself that moment of peace and quiet, to shut down for a bit and attempt to replenish your depleted energy reserves. It doesn't always work, of course — sometimes waking up after a nice nap leaves you just wanting to nap a bit more — but at others, it can be just what you need to refresh yourself a bit. A power nap, or whatever.

For some reason, I find it much easier to fall asleep for a nap in the daytime than I do at night-time. Part of this is the mind's tendency to ruminate on things last thing at night, but I'm not exactly immune to that in the daytime, either. And yet still I find it much easier to nod off in the middle of the day than at night-time.

Perhaps part of this is down to the fact that from university onwards, I was a bit of a night owl. I have particularly fond memories of being up late one evening pootling about on the Internet, receiving a message from a friend of mine who said that they were going to the beach, and heading off for a thoroughly pleasant evening of night-time beach foolishness with said friend and some other mutual acquaintances.

There was also the period around 2010 or so where I was Going Through A Difficult Time, shall we say, and as part of that process I completely ruined my body clock to such a degree that I was going to bed at 5AM and not waking up until 12 hours later. Not my proudest moment, but also I think the support I was receiving at that time is what helped me get through that particularly difficult period, as incompatible as it may have temporarily made me with a "normal" existence.

Maybe I just like sleeping. I do like sleeping. Regardless, I'm going to sleep relatively early this evening in the hope that I feel a bit more human tomorrow, because right now I feel like a sentient pool of sludge.

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#oneaday Day 75: Not Well

I've been unwell for the last couple of days. I don't know whether it's a delayed reaction to going to London last week or if it's just a seasonal thing, but I've been feeling pretty rotten. Spent most of this evening asleep, and didn't even end up feeling super rested because I was having sad and upsetting dreams.

But oh well. These things happen, they are a fact of life. At least with how most of us are still able to work from home, being ill doesn't mean having to take a whole day off work. In fact, when I'm feeling fairly wretched, I'm more than happy to do some work anyway because it's something to do and it helps keep my mind off things. Right now, we're doing some preparatory work for the Evercade cartridges coming in the first half of 2025, and we've already got some excellent stuff lined up. Obviously I can't talk about that in any more detail than that, though!

The situation I described yesterday appears to mostly be settling down, thankfully. A couple of people have left the Discord in question, which is a shame in at least one case, but everyone else (except arguably one person, whom I had to reprimand privately earlier, and who was less than gracious about it) seems to have stopped being quite so childish about the entire situation. I'm still baffled at supposedly grown adults behaving like primary school children, though… although given my local Slimming World group has groups of older ladies who have to be asked to stop talking while the consultant delivers the session, perhaps I shouldn't be so surprised.

I haven't really played any games for the past few days because I just haven't really felt like I've had the mental energy for it. I have watched a lot of episodes of Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, though, and I'm now into the fifth season, which I believe is virgin territory for me. I might have seen the first couple of episodes at some point, but beyond that, I think it's all new to me. I'm particularly interested to see how the whole Dominion War arc proceeds, because I've been specifically avoiding a lot of Star Trek material that is positioned as being after the Dominion War — with one exception being the excellent Star Trek Resurgence, which I highly recommend to those who enjoy both Trek and Telltale Games' past work.

I have been playing the piano, though. In fact, my long sleep tonight meant that today is the first day I haven't played it since it arrived, but I'll get back onto it tomorrow. At the moment I'm still just playing a few bits and pieces to get back into the swing of things, but I think from next week I'm going to try and start doing a bit more structured "practice" again. That feels like a good and healthy habit to get back into, and perhaps alongside that I can revitalise my enthusiasm for the gym while I'm establishing habits.

Good intentions and all that. Anyway, now it's late, so I think it's probably time to go back to bed, maybe watch another Deep Space Nine, and get some more sleep. Hopefully I'll feel better tomorrow.

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Attempting to process some bad news

You'll hopefully indulge me for a while, as we had some devastating news today: our beloved cat Meg appears to have liver cancer, and there's nothing we or the vet are able to do about it aside from attempt to make her feel comfortable and loved for the immediate future.

Meg is just shy of 12 years of age, and neither Andie nor I are ready to say goodbye to her. She's been such an important part of our lives for so long at this point that I've been hit very hard by the sorrow of knowing that our time together is coming to an end. I won't speak for Andie, because she doubtless has her own feelings on the matter, but I can at least talk through how I'm feeling in an attempt to process the situation.

A bit of background for those curious: we've had Meg since she was about 2 or 3 years old. She was a rescue cat, but she and her companion Ruby hadn't been mistreated or anything like that; they'd simply been put up for adoption because someone in their former home turned out to be allergic to cats. We fell in love with both of them almost immediately, and they joined our family in 2016.

Ruby, sadly, had an accident in 2018 and left us well before her time, and Meg was clearly hit hard by the situation; she was clearly pining for the company of another cat. We suspect (though we've never known for sure) that Ruby may have been her kitten, which made the situation doubly sad. But we decided quickly to adopt another cat, both because we enjoyed having two cats around and we didn't want Meg to be sad. And so Patti, a nervous little black cat who had something of a troubled start to her life from the sound of things, joined us.

The relationship between the pair was initially somewhat cautious. Despite being a complete scaredy-cat (no pun intended), Patti had a habit of launching herself towards Meg at high velocity when she first arrived, making Meg a little uneasy about her. Over time, they came to tolerate one another, though, and while I know Meg would never admit it, I'm pretty sure they even came to like one another.

We knew something was wrong with Meg a few months back when we noticed she was looking obviously skinnier than she had ever done, and, taking her to the vet, it seemed that she had indeed lost rather a lot of weight. She had a blood test that came back without any real indication that anything was wrong, ruling out common causes of sudden weight loss such as hyperthyroidism and diabetes, but we were still a little concerned.

It took a couple more appointments, including today's, where she was put under general anaesthetic and examined thoroughly, to discover what was actually wrong with her. And now we're kind of at a loss. We don't want to lose Meg, but we also don't want her to suffer.

At present, she's actually doing reasonably well considering the circumstances, but she hasn't been eating as much as she has done in the past, which accounts for the weight loss. And, realistically, things are not going to get any better from here. But we're not ready to say goodbye just yet, so we've got some medicine to hopefully make her feel a bit better for now, and we'll have to see what happens from there.

I don't know if I want to say that death scares me, because I'm not sure that it's death itself that scares me. It's more the knowledge that I do not handle grief well at all, and the difficulty I have in picturing a life without someone or something that has been such a major fixture in it for so long.

Meg is such a precious, loved part of our family that even contemplating moving forward without her is enough to bring tears to my eyes. And the prospect of telling someone else "yes, it's time for her to die," as you regrettably often have to do with pets, is near-inconceivable. I don't know if I can do it. But it's also not fair to lumber Andie with everything.

Part of my brain knows, rationally, that all lives come to an end, and often a lot sooner than we would like, particularly when animals are concerned. That same part of my brain knows that it is the right thing to do to just let her go when simply existing is too difficult or painful for her. But another part of my brain says "what right do I have to decide that for her?"

I think part of why I have so much difficulty dealing with and processing this sort of thing is that there are no answers. There is no "right way" to handle it. There is no person you can go to for help and get everything resolved neatly and without pain. There is just that period of grief, pain and sadness awaiting, and I unfortunately know from past experience that when you're in the middle of it, it sometimes doesn't feel like you'll ever be able to break out again.

This is what scares me. I know that I will be completely devastated with grief for quite some time when it is finally Meg's time to pass on. And I can't help but worry about how I will cope when something even worse happens in the future. Because I know it will, one day. Hopefully not for a good long while yet, but it will.

The things I'm feeling are not, I suspect, unique to me by any means. But it's difficult to talk about them, which means it's difficult to find a suitable outlet to express and process the storm of emotions that situations like this bring to one's mind. I have been in floods of tears off and on all day, and I don't know what else I can do. Because there probably isn't anything else I can do.

Writing those feelings down is as good a solution as any for now, then, I guess. At least then I can look back on them after the fact and perhaps learn something from them — and hopefully those close to me will also have a better understanding about how I'm feeling and why I'm struggling.

In the meantime, Meg is now home and doing as well as can be expected. She's just had something to eat, as she hasn't had anything since last night, and I'm sure she just wants to get some rest now. She will be loved for however much time we have left together, and anything beyond that we'll just have to deal with as it happens.

2508: The Cough of an Eighty Year Old Man

I am ill.

I do not like being ill, because it is annoying and painful, particularly when it is that particular breed of "ill" somewhere between a cold and flu that causes you to feel constantly stuffed up and occasionally cough like an eighty year old smoker. Also I have the shits.

It is not a pleasant day to be ill, either. Andie's phone claimed it was -7C outside earlier and while I tend to take phone weather readings with a pinch of salt, the fact that it is still visibly frosty outside leads me to believe that yes, it certainly is at least a bit cold out there. Meg the cat certainly let me know that it was cold when I let her in just now.

I have spent the morning in bed accompanied by one or both of our cats at all times. I'm always amazed at quite how well cats understand people; they know exactly when you're not feeling great, whether it's physically, mentally or both, and they know that what you often need in such situations is company and affection. Ruby, who is typically the more irritating of our two cats, rather fond of walking across your face when you're trying to do something, sat with me quietly and peacefully for most of the morning, even curling up and settling down for a bit, which is rather rare to see her do.

I'm up now and craving nothing more than "ill person food". Specifically, I'm feeling a steak slice, nice crisps (Walkers Max!) and some chocolate might help with the doldrums of being ill, accompanied by plenty of Lemsip, of course.

This is a singularly tedious blog post, I'm aware, as there are few things more boring than listening to someone else talk about how ill they are — I've heard enough complaints from my parents about my grandmother having such conversations with them to know this all too well — but, well, it's something to do now that I appear to have exhausted my capacity for lying in bed wheezing all morning. Now I am on the couch beneath a blanket like a homeless person while Andie puts up the Christmas tree and decorations, because now it's December, it is an acceptable time to do so.

Time to dose up on drugs and steak slices, I think, and hopefully I'll feel a bit better tomorrow.

1786: That Monday Feeling

It was Jim Davis' comic creation fat cat Garfield that made me aware of the world's dislike of Mondays during my formative years, but as time has passed I've come to appreciate the chubby orange one's worldview. Particularly when your Monday goes as badly as mine has.

I thought I was over the bum-AIDS I'd been afflicted with for the last few days of last week and part of the weekend, and indeed most of the day passed without incident. On the way home, however, I was in a fair amount of pain and — again, I'm sorry to be sharing such revolting imagery when you may well be having your dinner or midnight snack — had to rush straight to the toilet when I got home for a fairly explosive session.

Of course, the return of bum-AIDS wasn't quite enough to make my Monday a misery. Oh no; this morning our toilet decided to stop flushing, so even with full knowledge of the fact that I wouldn't be able to easily dispose of my… product, I was sat there, disgusting myself, not wanting to contemplate the destruction I had left in my wake nor how I was going to set about making things right again. (Our interim solution until we fix the problem — which looks like a problem with the syphon, for any aspiring plumbers out there — is simply to throw buckets of water down the toilet. Retro.)

Of course, the return of bum-AIDS and our toilet failing to do anything resembling flushing normally wasn't quite enough to make my Monday a misery. Oh no; my headphones broke, too. To be fair, they were only a cheap £10 JVC pair I picked up from Tesco several years ago, but they were comfortable, sounded good and had served me well for quite some time. Inexplicably, they chose to completely break as I removed them from my head as I arrived at work today, however; not just a simple "something popping out of where it should be, easily fixed" break, either — this was a proper big chunk breaking off and promptly disappearing somewhere on the floor, not that it would have done me much good to retrieve it anyway.

Of course, the return of bum-AIDS, our toilet failing to do anything resembling flushing and my headphones breaking wasn't quite enough to make my Monday a misery. Oh no; the lanyard that holds my work ID card and keys broke, too. I don't even know how this happened, but again, a bit just fell off, disappeared and was consequently unfixable. (Fortunately, I happened to have a spare.)

Of course, the return of bum-AIDS… are you getting the picture yet? The rubbishness just kept coming and coming and coming until by the time I got home and had finished my business I was left feeling utterly defeated by the day.

Hopefully tomorrow will be better. But right now, I'm not holding my breath. Except when I walk past the toilet.

1522: Esuna

If only the "Esuna" spell was a thing. (For the non-Final Fantasy-literate, Esuna is a spell that immediately heals all negative status effects.)

That would have sorted me right out on Monday night when I felt this bug hitting me. It would have prevented nearly a working week of lying in bed coughing, moaning and realising that actually, my bed isn't all that comfortable at all, really, particularly when you're in quite a lot of pain.

Still, what's done is done, and unfortunately it's not as if I could have done anything about it anyway. You can take all the preventative measures you want, but if an illness decides it's going to strike, it's going to strike. Fuckers. I do find it slightly worrying and ironic that the last couple of times I've felt particularly bad recently — this week and one day last week — have been immediately after I made a conscious effort to do some exercise. It's like my body doesn't want to get fit and healthy. I'll show it who's boss, though. (Unless I get struck down with the plague immediately after going swimming again. In which case, fuck everything.)

One thing I've never been able to shake out of my mind is a hangover from my days working in schools, and that's the guilt I feel at being ill. Taking a day off sick when you work as a teacher is a massive inconvenience to all of your colleagues, you see, and in many cases you actually end up having to do some work anyway to ensure you have some stuff sent in for those covering your lessons. In most schools, pupils don't simply get a free period if their teacher isn't there, after all, and when you teach a specialist subject such as music you can pretty much guarantee the person covering your class will not be a music specialist. (They will almost definitely be a PE teacher, which is pretty much the polar opposite of being a music teacher.)

Guilt at being ill when you're a teacher is somewhat justified, then, as it often has a significant impact on a number of people's days — the office staff have to sort out who's going to cover your lessons, the staffers who were looking forward to a free period or two now have to cover your lessons and, more often than not, your head of department has to check that the kids aren't killing the poor cover teacher.

But in other jobs? Variable. I felt particularly guilty this week due to the fact that my USgamer colleagues are at GDC and could have done with some support on the home front, but I have no doubt that they successfully handled it between them. And if I had a job that didn't face the public at all, like my ill-advised brief jaunt into temporary office work? My absence barely mattered at all; in fact, I don't believe anyone even noticed when I wasn't there, since none of them talked to me anyway.

Anyway. I think I am on the mend. I still have a nasty cough that keeps flaring up, but the headache and accompanying dizziness appears to have faded. I'm not sure how well I'm going to be able to sleep tonight, given that lying down seems to exacerbate my cough somewhat, but we'll see. In the meantime, Hatsune Miku is keeping me entertained.

One A Day, Day 38: False Start

I got it the right way around.

Normally, teachers surviving until half-term will immediately collapse upon finishing a big block of time at school, then be struck down with some mystery unpleasant illness, rendering them incapable of enjoying their holiday due to any combination of snot, sneezing, coughing, puking, diarrhoeaing, headaching or good old-fashioned exhaustion. I managed to get through most of the holiday without feeling too bad, with only what I thought to be a "stress cough" showing itself in the last few days, before developing into full-blown unpleasantness on the Monday I returned to work. Found myself burning up, sore-throated, coughing, clumsy and generally a complete mess. So I've had the last couple of days off sick.

Being off sick is always a strange experience. When you're off sick from a teaching post, the feeling of guilt is enormous, even if you know you genuinely are sick. Of course, there are people everywhere who take the piss with sick days, but that's no reason that the rest of us should feel guilty at taking some time off to recover. Fortunately, the one good thing I can say about the school I currently work at is that they're pleasantly understanding about illness and don't even demand a day's worth of cover work to be sent through, unlike a previous place I worked. Yes, that's right – one previous school I worked at actually expected you, however sick you were, to send in some cover work for the day. That didn't help with the guilt.

Still. I will be back in tomorrow, worse luck. Not looking forward to it. The first day back wasn't fun, though that was probably mostly the "not feeling well" talking. Going back again after the class having had a couple of days of supply teachers isn't going to be any more pleasant. And the knowledge that the inspectors are coming back soon, along with a whole host of "monitoring" activities, is not making me feel any more positive about the whole thing – but at least there's not that long to go. In fact, there are only three and a half weeks to go. By now, I don't give a shit about the outcome of the aforementioned "monitoring" or the inspection, but that doesn't mean I can just switch off from the whole unpleasant experience. Unfortunately, there's no way of me "opting out", despite the fact that my negligible contribution to the school will soon be a distant memory.

Oh well. I guess all I can do is keep my fingers crossed that the inspectors decide to show up after I've left. It could happen. But, with my track record of "luck", it probably won't…