Cu nasul in batista / Running nose

Sunt bolnava... Ei, nu rau, cu siguranta nu o sa mor din asta, m-a tras pe sfoara un soare zglobiu in weekend, si iata-ma dependenta de ceai si nurofen... Si stand eu si zacand asa, mi-am dat seama brusc de cat de putine ori in viata asta mi-am permis luxul de a zace, pentru a-mi recapata energia, pentru a fi in convalescenta, pentru a ma face bine... Si, a nu se interpreta gresit: "mi-am permis" nu e deloc impersonal, e o expresie care implica un agresor - EU si o victima - tot EU. Adica, pe scurt, eu nu mi-am dat voie mie sa pierd timpul refacandu-ma, dupa orice. Si ma mai miram ca la 20 si ceva de ani ma simteam obosita?

Sursa foto

In 8 ani de munca am avut concediu medical o singura data, si era dupa o operatie, trebuia sa stau acasa 2 saptamani, insa dupa 5 zile, in care am stat calare pe telefon si laptop (mi-aminteesc ca, ironic, s-a defectat routerul wireless, drept pentru care m-am mutat cu arme si bagaje pe hol, langa priza de internet, stand pe jos, ca sa verific mailul...), incotosmanata in halat de baie si papuci de casa, m-am intors la munca "refacuta" complet.

Anul trecut, cam pe vremea asta (sau mai devreme putin, prin februarie), m-am luptat cu o gripa teribila, cu frisoane noaptea, cu febra, cu mare, mare nevoie de stat in pat si tratat babeste. Dar credeti ca am stat acasa? O, nu... Aveam treburi mai importante de rezolvat, la munca... Si uite ce bine mi-a prins, eforturile mele au fost indeaproape observate si luate in seama! Cum confundam responsabilitatea cu prostia!

Cum de am ajuns sa ma iubesc atat de putin? De unde tendinta asta de a ma plasa pe mine pe ultimele locuri in lista de prioritati, si, daca eu gandesc asa, de unde pretentia ca ceilalti sa ma plaseze in topul listelor lor de prioritati?

Mi-am acordat prea putin timp sa ma refac, sa jelesc, sa port doliu. Lasati statuile sa fie construite pentru altii, oricum mare utilitate nu au pe lume, decat sa foloseasca ca vesnic suport pentru gainatul porumbeilor...

Asadar, chiar daca m-ati cauta azi, e posibil sa fiu ocupata - bolesc!

***

I'm sick... Well, not bad, I'm definitely not going to die from this, I got dragged down by a miserly sun over the weekend, and here I am addicted to tea and nurofen.... And sitting and lying there like that, I suddenly realized how few times in this life I've allowed myself the luxury of lying down, to regain my energy, to convalesce, to get better... And, not to be misunderstood: "I allowed myself" is not impersonal at all, it's an expression that implies an aggressor - ME and a victim - also ME. I mean, in short, I didn't allow myself to waste time recovering, after all. And was I surprised that at 20-something I felt tired?

In 8 years of work I had only one sick leave, and it was after an operation, I had to stay at home for 2 weeks, but after 5 days, when I sat on my phone and laptop (I remember that, ironically, the wireless router broke down, so I moved with arms and luggage in the hallway, next to the internet socket, sitting on the floor, to check my mail...), in my bathrobe and slippers, I went back to work completely "recovered".

Last year, about this time (or earlier, around February), I was battling a terrible flu, with nighttime chills, fever, a great, great need to stay in bed and treated sick. But do you think I stayed home? Oh, no... I had more important things to do at work... And look how well I did, my efforts were closely observed and taken care of! How we confuse responsibility with stupidity!

How did I come to love myself so little? Why this tendency to place myself at the bottom of the priority list, and, if I think that way, why the demand that others place me at the top of their priority lists?

I have given myself too little time to recover, to mourn, to grieve. Let the statues be built for others, anyway they have little use in the world, except to serve as an eternal support for the pigeons' sheath...

So, even if you were looking for me today, I may be busy - I'm sick!