I think I'll need to title each part of my saga with alliterative titles, much in the vein of Lemony Snicket's Series of Unfortunate Events. If yesterday is 'Brilliant Beginning,' then today is 'Sucky Sequel.'
I've been feeling a bit under the weather for the past two weeks, but nothing absolutely unmanageable. But today, I woke up feeling awful. I couldn't breathe out of either nostril, my head felt like it was about to explode, and I was strangely numb and sore all over.
I muscled through class in the morning, but still felt really sick by lunchtime. I didn't feel hungry at all, so I ended up sleeping through lunch. In the afternoon, I dragged myself out of bed to get to class, where we watched a documentary film called Seven Up! To be more accurate, it's actually a 'series' based on the Jesuit quote "Give me a child until he is seven and I will give you the man." 14 British seven-year-olds from diverse economic backgrounds were chosen in 1964 to participate in the documentary. Every seven years, the documentary interviews the children to see how they progress through life; the explicit assumption behind the series is that one's socioeconomic class determines one's life. The latest installment was 49 Up, released in 2005.
The idea is simultaneously troubling and fascinating, and I thought that the series was well-done, even if the questions posed by the directors were a bit leading and the fact that the viewer was asked to judge the participants based on their answers to interviews when they were, oh, seven- or fourteen-year-olds is a bit ludicrous. Half the stuff I said when I was 14 would make me sound (mostly) crazy, and I certainly wouldn't want to be judged for any random comments I say even today.
After class was a literary walking tour through Regent's Park and up Primrose Hill - past the house where Yeats had lived and where Sylvia Plath killed herself. Unfortunately, however, I felt way too sick to do the tour, so I ended up missing it, which left me super, super bummed.
Since I hadn't eaten anything at all today, I forced myself to eat dinner. Having no sense of smell severely dampens one's ability to enjoy food, so I was basically shoveling tasteless stuff into my mouth, although my friends told me that the chicken and rice was actually quite good.
Because of the poor weather, the program coordinators decided to cancel a showing of Miller's Crucible that we were supposed to go to tonight. Everyone else is out and about - either watching The Prince of Persia down in Lester Square or at various pubs.
Since I thought that we had to go watch The Crucible tonight, I scheduled a chat with my boyfriend for midnight, when I was sure to be back home. But now that means that I'm simply sitting around and waiting for midnight to come ... and I still have four hours to go.
Anyway, that was me unloading my woes onto you, the unsuspecting public. I really hope that I feel better soon - being sick is absolutely no fun at all.
Since I still have three hours until my scheduled chat with my boyfriend, I think I'm going to go take a quick late-evening nap, then return in a few. Farewell until then!