Last Saturday, after weeks of careful use of remedies and potions and preventions, I succumbed to one of the nasty viruses making the circuit. I've had, I think, what one friend called the "clu," more than a cold, less than the flu. I felt something coming on for a couple of days and then I woke up SICK. Feverish, coughing, blowing, crap. I was way down for three days and then slowly began to feel better.
I cancelled everything: work, play, everything and slept and read and watched Netflix in the evenings. I didn't eat much, didn't care (that's when I knew I was really sick). My good neighbor Melanie brought me kleenex and ibuprofen and another friend brought teas and daffodils but other than that, I didn't really see anybody until today (when I was finally well enough to go to acupuncture). And even there I had two very limited exchanges.
Yesterday, I realized I was sinking into some old feelings of isolation. In the last years of my using, there were strings of days, particularly in the summer when I wasn't teaching or during vacations, when I would drink and see and talk to no one unless it was the liquor store clerk. I wouldn't answer the phone (what for?). I wouldn't call anyone. And there's a kind of malaise that goes with that, a soul sickness that is both frightening and seductive.
I live alone and work at home and so I spend a good deal of time on my own. But most days I go to the gym with Melanie or see clients or run errands or have tea with a friend. I'm out and engaged in the world. I haven't been for the last week and while I never once thought of drinking, some of the old -ism was creeping around the edges. Glad I see it for what it is. Glad I made plans to get out tomorrow.