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waidI want to be writing. Or reading. Or learning French. But I can't, because I spent all night inexplicably throwing up and am now in that maddening phase of recovery when you have just enough energy and well-being to appreciate how skull-perforatingly bored you are. If I get up and move around I start to feel on the point of throwing up again. If I read more than a few pages my eyes hurt and I get too tired and start to feel on the point of throwing up again. Ditto looking at screens. And obviously I can't have intelligent thoughts about anything.
And I was rather pleased with myself for having eaten an uncharacteristically hearty supper, too. (Most of my life I've been too thin, you see. Just about the lowest possible healthy BMI now.) Ugh, don't want to think about that now. And it wasn't the meal. No one else is sick.
Oh well. The probably-not-throwing-up any more part, that's fun. I could even just about get Pollyanna-ish about how this particular sort of boredom sort of illustrates another, unexpected advance on the mental health front (wanting to learn things! I used to be like that all the time and I hadn't even noticed I'd stopped!) but really dammit it took me three hours to eat a single cracker and 10% of a banana and there are limits to the power of looking on the bright side.
And I was rather pleased with myself for having eaten an uncharacteristically hearty supper, too. (Most of my life I've been too thin, you see. Just about the lowest possible healthy BMI now.) Ugh, don't want to think about that now. And it wasn't the meal. No one else is sick.
Oh well. The probably-not-throwing-up any more part, that's fun. I could even just about get Pollyanna-ish about how this particular sort of boredom sort of illustrates another, unexpected advance on the mental health front (wanting to learn things! I used to be like that all the time and I hadn't even noticed I'd stopped!) but really dammit it took me three hours to eat a single cracker and 10% of a banana and there are limits to the power of looking on the bright side.
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Date: 2011-03-30 10:29 pm (UTC)I couldn't do plotting! I really wanted to, (have been since!) but couldn't get my brain to co-operate for long enough before it either just collapsed and cried to go home or got all weird, "Oh, hey, France is ECNARF backwards. Those tufts in the carpet look like a face. MOAR WORDS BACKWARDS. I think I'll play that Defying Gravity song for a while."
Eeesh, 7st. Unless you are VERY SHORT that is no good. The lowest I've ever been was 7st2 and when I gained a few pounds, I ran up a few flights of stairs and was shocked at how I wasn't wheezing and trying not to pass out while my heart tried to catapult out of my chest. Otherwise, it doesn't surprise me that much that people don't notice the difference between say 8-9.5 stone as much as you do. I remember when I found that one of my friends was shorter than me, a stone and a half heavier and STILL SLIM. As I'd only thought of myself as needing to gain maybe 4 lb, that shocked me a bit.
Though my weight problems are mostly to do with food itself rather than its effect on how I look, I do have my own hang-ups and would rather stay on the slender side of normal. And I know on the one hand BMI isn't the most reliable thing in the world (doesn't take account of how freakishly narrow some of my bones are), but on the other, I haven't had a single cold since I got inside the bracket it said was healthy.
Also, boobs.