Forget everything I said earlier this week. It must have been the fever. After posting the blog about having the flu and that life is great even when you are in bed vomiting against the curtains, things got worse. I thought I was already recovering, that I could slowly return to my normal life (meaning: eat a lot, be active, run around the house, annoy my BF, return to the yoga practice asap, hang out with my yoga buddies), but this was not the case. I had a light meal of soup and toast with cheese, but my body thought it had to digest brick stones filled with tiramisu. I had cramps and felt utterly nauseous, up to the point I almost wished I could vomit again so it would be over. But this did not happen. And I am not a DIY puker. I slept terrible, I woke up every hour, feeling hot and then cold and then hungry and then empty and then I had stomach aches again.
Maybe I still have a lesson to learn (would you think?). Something about being patient, about not knowing ANYTHING (even if it regards my own body), about not jumping ahead to soon, about not being able to predict the future, and still about letting go. And let's not forget: how it is a blessing if you are not sick. Feeling healthy and well and having the freedom and the ability to go everywhere you want is worth a million bucks (but what do I know since I am stuck at home in my smelly PJ's with an empty fridge and YouTube has nothing to offer and I am are reading a book that started great but got boring after twenty pages).