The other day, when I looked up happily from my horizontal position on the sofa, peered over the top of my pizza and announced to my friend – with a contented/smug smile – that I was “just the perfect amount of hung-over”, I expected him to nod in understanding. Instead he looked at me like I was a bit extraordinary, wrote me off as a crazy and asked “isn’t that an oxymoron??” No. No dear friend it’s not an oxymoron. And this is why.
disease. And a real pain in the A for some of us.
Yes, we fidgety types like to be busy and yes we can channel the everlasting surplus energy into all sorts of prolific and unnecessary activities, (like just the other day, I couldn’t bear to sit down after my tea, so I decided to see how many walks I could do on my hands. Turns out not many), but sometimes when you’re knackered from the effort of walking on your hands, it would be nice to be able to take a pew, watch the Xtra factor and shut the hell up for a few hours. I find it nearly impossible. Nearly.
This is something my poor mum had to deal with while I was growing up – if I wasn’t bouncing a ball repetitively outside her window, I was somersaulting on the sofa in my plimsolls and drawing my name all over my grandmother’s book collection (and then blaming my grandmother). My dad too tried in vein to quash it, intermittently playing a game with me called “Let’s See How long We- And By We I Mean Hannah- Can Be Quiet For” when I was aged about 4. I certainly don’t have any trophies from that particular tournament. It was the same with the blinking, laughing, statue and breathing games. And alas, I did not change. Instead emerged a Fidgeter, with a beeline for the next activity before she’s even finished the last.
For the Fidgeters of this world, the only time we can ever actually chill the hell out and have a breather is when we are quite literally struck down. For me this is occasionally by illness, fairly regularly from hangover and potentially at some point in the future by lightning.
It is a blissful experience when we can occasionally just STOP and feel nothing other than the snug respite of the divan. Some are born without the burden of the Fidget factor, and they are blessed and they can lie down for days and they can do/think/talk absolutely nothing whenever they fancy it. I envy you. All of you. Because when I’m cleaning the inside of the fridge for the 8th time, you’re chilling out and generally having a wale of a time. Guilt free, because you can’t help it if you’re born like it.
Therefore, sometimes, after a particularly busy few months, if I feel a sniffle coming, it’s all I can do not to stand in the rain, in wet clothes, next to a group of influenza patients, wielding a hand held fan to really break the ice of the group and get the germs flowing. Because catching said influenza is the only way I am going to force myself to have a freaking seat.
The same can be applied to hangovers. Sometimes we spend hours on the bathroom floor while enduring agonising headaches and the occasional feeling we might just die today, awaiting the days end as the excruciating tick of the clock reminds us time is actually going backwards and we have just wasted our one day off teetering on the outskirts of hell. Those days I would rather leave. On other occasions, after a good old fashioned game of VODKA, we’re very pleasantly surprised to find that apart from an overwhelming lethargy and instinct to lie down and eat without a care in the world, we feel pretty fine! And on days like this we happily take to our sofas, grab the nearest blanket, stock up on potato cakes and hope the day never dies. Sigh. It was one of these days I was experiencing when I made the “perfect hangover” comment to my friend. And I still agree with myself.
Currently, I am hovering on the edge of man-flu, and though part of me is stocking up on vitamin C, making soup and getting an early night tonight, there’s a devil inside me that wonders if it just…gets…a…little…worse….I might be able to sack off everything productive this week, hibernate in my room, get the Sex and the City box-set going and gather up all the take away menus ready for action… we can only dream. But until that glorious day arrives, I will write this blog, haul myself to work, run like a crazy woman at the crack of dawn and wonder just what it must be like to be a lazy little sod with all the time, the highest bed-attendance rating and the strongest chill-power in the world.