- Throwing-up problems -

15th June '18

It was nice to go to morning yoga classes again.

And what I mean by that, is it was horrible to go to morning yoga classes again.

I haven't entirely neglected yoga for the past four months, but I almost have.

And it felt like it.

I couldn't even get into positions now, that were comfortable for me four months ago. It felt as bad or as worse as when I'd never done yoga before. So that kind of sucked.

But it is what it is. The worse you are at something, the more space you have to improve, so it's all up from here.

And this first day of term was... it was exactly how I said I hoped it would be in the last blog.

I didn't set an alarm. I never do when I don't need to; I like to give my body the chance to sleep as much as it needs to. But typically, this would be the one day that I'd oversleep.

I woke-up at 8:30am, which was an hour or so later than in previous days but... whatever.

I was then able to plan all of my classes for the week... not the day, for the week, before going to this 11:15am yoga class.

And that's the difference between having a manager who listens to you and tries to accommodate you by giving you levels that you've already taught before, and one that just hands-out schedules willy-nilly.

At this point I only knew my weekday schedule of course; this didn't include planning for the weekend. But still.

Compared to last term, it was a revelation.

I didn't hang-around at the gym. I got showered and rushed straight home to make and eat lunch 1. And then make and eat lunch 2.

That's a weird feeling. The second you finish washing-up one meal, without even putting the chopping board away, you start making the next one.

But then I managed over an hour of my course, before having the leftovers of lunch 2 for lunch 3. And that was all of my food for the day, eaten in roughly three hours.

I even found the time to do ten minutes of meditation before going to work, although with my stomach being painfully full, it wasn't exactly that easy to focus.

And then having already planned them, I got into work early to print-off and cut-up all of my classes for the week. And during this, my boss came up to me like an awkward grandpa, trying to look cool in front of his grandkids.

"Jethro, hey, yo!"

Alright, he wants something.

"Do you think you can..."

"No," I quickly responded jokingly.

Sort of jokingly.

Ah, how much I'm sure he hates me.

He continued, "Do you think that you can teach three classes on weekends?"

"I certainly don't want to," I responded.

"We're really hurting," he said. "It would really help us out."

"Are any of those classes juniors?" I asked, making a very unsubtle hint that I'll do it if I don't have to teach any kids.

"No," he replied, after pausing for a moment to think about it.

"Yeah, then I can do it," I said, continuing to reiterate what I'd said in an email over the holiday, "but it's helpful if I'm teaching repeat levels, or levels that I've already taught before."

"Yeah, you will be," he said.

Credit where it's due. You could see how uncomfortable this made him. He's not someone who likes asking people for help. His vision of his role, is he tells people to jump, and they ask him how high. So fair play to him, for actually going about this in what I would say is the 'right' way, even though he clearly felt uncomfortable doing it.

I kind of wanted to pat him on the back and say..."I'm proud of you man."

I'm sure he hates me on the inside, but I'll get over that. If this is how things are going to be going forward, then maybe I should give him another chance.

All that I've wanted from him is a bit of communication, and an appreciation that my time is not his to use as he wishes.

It didn't appear that he was making this concession for everyone, so I guess that being an awkward cunt last term, was paying-off now.

And teaching three classes on weekends; meaning a class at 8am, a class at 11am, and a class at 2pm, is going to fucking suck. But if he's true to his word and I have taught them before, then it could be worse. And with better pay on weekends, no long breaks or split shifts this term, and only levels that I've taught before, then this term is going to be the most money, for the least amount of work.

I can get on board with that, even if it's more work than I want or need.

It was a strangely positive start to the term. I'm not used to it. Something has to go wrong.

Ah, there it is.

Like I said, I'd eaten three meals in about three hours, and my stomach felt rather full.

By this point, it had been two or three hours since I'd finished eating. And when I over-eat, which I do a lot, it's usually after a couple of hours that the food has digested enough that I stop being uncomfortable.

My stomach was just in pain though. What the fuck is wrong?

It made teaching my first class of the new term quite a challenge, when I wanted to keel-over continually.

And I was feeling nauseous. On a couple of occasions in this first-half of the class, I felt my mouth filling-up with saliva and was on the verge of running out of the room to throw up.

And these occasions seemed to happen right as I was standing at the front of the room teaching, rather than when my students were working amongst themselves, so I just did everything in my power to hold it in and keep going as normal, even when I could feel sweat building-up on my face and I could blow at a moment's notice.

I've taught through some sticky situations before. A couple of terms ago when I was unwell, I got so light-headed that I was having to hold onto the television to stay upright. But I kept going, and to the best of my knowledge the students were none the wiser that anything was wrong.

It was similar here. I just kept going as normal, and I think... I think that none of them realised that I was on the verge of throwing-up all over them.

In fact, this first half of the class went oddly well, judging by how my students were responding to me.

I didn't know what was wrong at this point. Like I said, my initial reaction was that this was because I over-ate, but that wouldn't still be bothering me four hours later.

And I've eaten to the point of vomiting before. If you force-down a sheer quantity of food so great that you throw it back up, it comes up straight away, not four or five hours later.

Which it did.

During the second half of class, I was standing at the front teaching, when I felt it again.

My mouth filling-up with saliva. Nausea taking over. This is bad.

I was able to hold my composure long enough to set-up my students with what they needed to do. But then I was like... shit.

I almost never leave my classroom mid-class.

I see other teachers wandering about outside their rooms endlessly. Going to the toilet, going back to the staffroom. For me though, once I'm in the room and I close the door, I never leave. I don't recall a time I've ever left my room mid-class.

This time, I checked my watch. 8:52pm it said as my students were working amongst themselves.

Then quiet as a cat, I ducked-out of the room, literally having to run to the bathroom down the hall, and I just... just made it to the toilet bowl in time.

I vomited what came, cleaned myself up at the sink as quickly as I could, and was back in the room at 8:55pm.

I don't even know if anyone noticed that I'd left.

I kept on going, trying not to get so close to any students that they would be able to smell my breath. And under the constant feeling that I wasn't done and would have to run-out of the classroom again at any second, I finished the class, standing tall, looking as professional as ever, until the last student left the room and I just collapsed into a chair.

Fuck I feel terrible.

I had to take a few moments to compose myself, before being like... alright, now I've got to make it home.

The one other teacher who was still at the school by now, was a rather cheery fellow, who came bouncing-into the teacher's room.

"How was your holiday? Where did you go? What did you do?"

I answered as I needed to, but it probably looked somewhat rude that I didn't reciprocate in asking him how his break had been. But I was just trying to get out of here exerting as little energy as possible.

I even made another visit to the bathroom to see if my stomach wanted to eject any more.

No? Are you sure?

'Yeah, I'm sure. This is way too convenient of a time.'

To get home, I always take either the bus or the train.

The train's more reliable, but in the evenings I tend to take the bus because the traffic isn't too bad, you're less likely to run-into students or other teachers, and as long as one arrives promptly, it tends to be a little quicker.

The downside is that it's not always reliable that one'll come in a timely manner, and on rare occasions you can find yourself waiting for bloody ages.

I was not in the mood for light conversation though, so I opted for the bus. Although after five minutes standing outside in the heat and no sign of a bus, I could feel my nausea getting worse.

Alright, I've got to get back into air-conditioning, so I changed my plan and went back inside to catch the MRT. And typically got to the platform right as the train doors were closing.

'Great,' I thought as I slumped into the seat on the platform, best hidden from the view of arriving passengers. I looked around for a place to throw-up if I needed to. That corner over there looks quite nice.

I saw in a reflection, the same teacher from the teacher's room come bounding-onto the platform, literally holding my breath as he walked past my concealed position, thinking 'please don't see me, please don't see me, please don't see me.'

Thank fuck, he's gone.

He's the nicest guy in the world; this isn't a reflection on him. I just needed all of my focus on keeping my stomach calm, so I let-out a huge sigh of relief when he was too distracted by his phone to notice me.

After what felt like forever, although in reality will have been about six minutes, a train pulled-up.

I normally stand on trains. Especially to and from work, when I only go two stops. But on this occasion I wanted as little strain on my stomach as possible.

So I sat down, looking at my reflection in the opposite window, trying my hardest to think of the least vomit-inducing things I could think of. Which inevitably just caused me to think about things that have made me throw-up in the past.

I could feel I was getting worse. And what usually feels like only a couple of minutes between stations, now felt like a lifetime.

I made it off the train at my stop with a feeling of "'fuck... this is coming.'"

Bangkok's pristine underground stations aren't exactly the best places to do something subtly. Once I'm up on street-level though, I can maybe find a bush or an alleyway, so I was moving through the station as fast as I could without making things worse.

It's a long escalator up to get out of the station. And as I rose to the top, I had the puffed-up cheeks of a hamster, with vomit dripping between my lips.

I was able to hold most of it in for a few more seconds until I was back on the street and I ran behind a bush and...

Well that was fun. I managed to get most of it onto something that wasn't me.

I hypocritically hate the iPhone era. I hate that people spend their lives staring at a screen. On this occasion though, it was perhaps the one thing that saved me from the embarrassment of anyone noticing. I'd just about managed to hold this one in for long enough to maintain my dignity.

From there I walked the least-populated, least-illuminated route back to my apartment. Partly because I could have had vomit all over my face, and partly because I knew that I wasn't done. So the fewer eyes able to see me, the better.

I made it all the way back though. But sensing the safety of my toilet, this was when it got really bad, and I chucked-up what felt like a week's worth of food.

Seriously, where the fuck did all of this come from? Did I really eat this much today?

For a moment I got distracted from how bad I felt, and with vomit dangling from my nostrils, took a step back and looked at my toilet and was like... damn, that's impressive.

Alright, now I'm done. My stomach's got nothing left to give.

So I lay there on my sofa for a bit to recover, and then I went to bed.

It was a fun first day back at work.

For the life of me I can't think what caused me to get sick.

I don't think it was purely the quantity of what I ate, because that wouldn't make me sick six hours later.

Yet everything I ate today, I cooked myself. And there was nothing out of the ordinary.

Lunch 1 was a pineapple, a red dragon fruit, three bananas, some mint leaves, and a fuck-load of nuts and seeds all blended together.

Lunches 2 and 3 were 2× fake tuna salad sandwiches each (chickpeas instead of tuna), on wholewheat bread that I'd made the night before.

Everything was perfectly normal to me. They're all regularly in my diet, so fuck knows what caused this. Something certainly didn't sit well though.

However ignoring the whole vomiting thing, it was a great first day of term.

I planned all my classes, I had time to exercise, I did my course, I got along with my boss, I had good students, I relaxed for a bit at the end of the day.

Minus the vomiting, it was my perfect work-day.

And I never seem to be able to start a term in good health. But if things start badly, they can only get better, so it's all upwards from here. Hopefully.

Feeling so depleted, I opted against exercising the next morning.

I also made a point of having breakfast; a fruit, nut and seed smoothie.

The problem I was finding, was that I'd heard a lot of people; a lot of professional athletes, saying that they do their first workout of the day on an empty stomach. The logic being, and I'm completely guessing right now, that after your nighttime fast your insulin levels are going to be lower, so your body will be using fat for energy?

I might have just completely made that up.

Regardless of their reasons, I've been trying to replicate it by not eating before exercising in the mornings too.

If I do an 11:15am yoga class though, then I don't get home until 1pm, so optimistically I'll be eating my first meal of the day at 1:30pm.

And when I leave for work at 5:15pm on my quiet day, or at 3:30pm on my busier days, and not able to eat anything after I finish work (because my eight-hour feeding window will have closed before I get home), it means that I could have as little as two hours to eat all of my food for the day. And when I'm trying to still eat three meals per day, because as I've stressed in other blogs, I'm not interested in losing weight. I don't want to cut calories. I want the same calories, just in a shorter window.

Trying to consume the calories that I used to eat in fifteen-and-a-half hours, in just two hours is...

Yeah, I think I'm taking this too far. It's supposed to be an eight-hour feeding window, not a two-hour feeding window.

I've either got to start eating breakfast again, and eating before I go to the gym. Or I've got to be willing to eat after work.

Let's experiment a bit more and see what works best.

Without any exercise on this second day of term though, I was able to get up and get straight on with my course.

My stomach still kind of felt like it was looking for a reason to throw-up again, I just didn't know what that reason was.

The only thing I suspected, was that yesterday I'd eaten so much wheat in such a short space of time, that my body couldn't handle it.

I eat a lot of wheat.

Always wholewheat, but still. I eat way too much of it, and depending who you talk to, some people claim that it's really not good for you.

But then at the same time, pasta's made out of wheat. Bread's made out of wheat.

I try not to have it in more than one meal per day, but yesterday I'd eaten almost an entire loaf of wholewheat bread as a part of my three lunches, and my only inkling was it was too much for my body to handle.

I wasn't sure about that, but I had to eat something today. And with my stomach looking for an excuse to throw-up again, I decided to omit any wheat, so started mixing together the spices for a quinoa curry for lunch.

Just the smell of the curry powder almost set me off though.

Alright, forget this. Forget fasting patterns or eight-hour windows or hunger or anything else. My primary concern is making it through the day without vomiting on any of my students. And the less food in my stomach, the less likely that is to happen. I'm already struggling to keep down my breakfast today. Let's not push it too far. I can make this curry after work, when the only person around to vomit on, is me.

I've already done well over an hour of my course today. I'm too infirm to eat or to exercise. Woohoo, afternoon PS4 session.

I wouldn't normally condone such a thing, but when I'm sick I can make an exception.

I stopped about an hour before I needed to leave for work, in order to go to 7-11 to get some mixed juice and a bag of crisps.

I needed to eat something, and no one's ever got sick off eating crisps before. Probably.

And then... well I kind of felt like I had yesterday.

Being nauseous is a nice distraction from reality.

Instead of focussing on your day, you walk down the street thinking 'that'll be a good place to throw up if I need to. Fuck I feel terrible. I think I'm going to throw up. Yep, I'm definitely going to throw up. Oh wait, it's gone. That'll be a good place if it comes back again.'

Feeling as positive as I was going into this term, this was probably the one time that I didn't need a distraction but... whatever.

And this day was kind of the same as the day before, minus the vomiting.

I felt like I could blow at a moment's notice, but thankfully that moment never came, so I made it through this second day with a decent record:

Two days of term, students vomited on: Zero.

As I'd been getting ready for my first class, my manager came into my room with a pencilled-in version of the weekend schedule, to show it to me and ask if it was ok.

It kind of sucked that I was going to have to teach from 8am to 4:30pm on weekends, but he'd been true to his word and not given me juniors, and had only given me levels that I've taught before, so I was like... yeah, that's fair.

I know that going into this term I didn't speak too highly of this manager. The way things had gone over the first couple of days of this term though, I honestly couldn't say a bad word about him. He'd been more than fair.

It was kind of like he'd had some moment of clarity during the holiday, and had just realised how he should be treating people.

I say people, it didn't seem to be a courtesy being extended to everyone, as I spoke to some other teachers and none of them had been asked about what they'd prefer to teach on weekends or what hours they were willing to do.

That means that it's probably a response to how I reacted to being given an intensive class last term without warning.

Which means one of two things.

Either he respects me so highly, that he feels I'm worthy of special treatment. Or he looks at me as a problem-teacher who doesn't do as he says.

I'm almost certain it's the latter, but either way I couldn't really give a fuck.

Despite all the overtures of how busy we were this term and the packed weekend schedules, without having to plan any new levels, my term was certainly going to be easier than last term. And for what little it's worth, my pay-cheque was going to be noticeably larger as well.

Sure, I'd like less classes. But more money for less work? It's certainly an improvement.

And to show the converse of my relatively easy schedule, one of the teachers that I mentioned in the last blog that starts work at 10am each weekday morning, and doesn't finish until 9:15pm each evening, has actually brought a sort-of... camping mattress into work, and set it up in one of the unused rooms.

He's actually brought a bed to work with him, so that he can take naps during the day. That's how fucked his schedule is.

Sucks to be him. I'll be in my yoga class.

And when I asked him why he accepted a schedule so bad that he had to bring a bed to work, he responded "I kind of feel like if I help out, then they'll take it into consideration and I'll get a better schedule next term."

You poor, confused child.

Finishing work, my stomach didn't even feel strong enough to finish making the quinoa curry that I'd started, so I just had some fruits and nuts, still bemused as to why I was even sick in the first place.

Apart from the nausea, I didn't have any other ill-feelings, so I'm convinced it was something I ate that caused this.

An excess of wheat? I mean, I still think it's possible. But even that I think unlikely, because my body's so used to eating wheat. Despite knowing I shouldn't, I have loads of it in my diet.

It's just a really good... vessel for other food.

And what I mean by that, is you can't really have a sandwich filling without the bread (you can, but it's not the same). And the type of sauce that you have is what makes pasta.

I read a couple of days ago, that the different pasta shapes that you get (penne, fusilli etc.) are irrelevant in and of themselves. They're all made of the same ingredients and have the same taste.

The reason they come in so many different shapes, is for how each shape holds the sauce differently. For example, with penne, you should use a thick, but not chunky sauce that can flow into the hollow tubes.

I never knew that. I always just go with spaghetti because it takes up less space in my bag when I have to carry it home from the supermarket.

But my point is that wheat is such a useful ingredient when cooking, that I eat way, way too much of it. But my body is also very used to it, so I have my doubts that eating a little bit more than usual would have made me this sick.

On Sunday, I'd got a smoothie bowl at a vegan restaurant that I've been to several times before without problem, so there could have been something wrong with that but... I mean, this is a popular, clean, vegan restaurant with an open kitchen. So I think that would be pretty unlikely too.

What was clear to me though, was that although this experimental way of eating had been great during the holiday, being back at work was just too restricting of my time, and it wasn't going to translate so well now.

I gave myself food poisoning on the very first day of term. That's not a good sign. I've got to change-up this experiment.

I thought about just extending my eating window, but then decided to do so, but in a slightly different way.

If you watched the videos that I added a couple of blogs ago, in the one with Rhonda Patrick, she was talking about how, as well as by food, your metabolic enzymes are activated by sunlight.

This has never left my mind.

I mean, I still don't know what a metabolic enzyme is, but they sound important. And if they're getting activated by sunlight whether I'm eating or not, then surely that should be the point that I start my feeding window for the day.

Another variation of these fasting diets, calls for eating in tune with your circadian clock.

Basically, eating when it's light outside, and fasting at sunset, as would have been the case for hunter/gatherers.

That means a roughly eleven-hour eating window from, in Bangkok, about 7am to 6pm.

I'll likely lose the first hour or so of that window due to sleeping, and on my busier days, the last two and a half hours due to work.

But despite that, it gives me a lot more freedom, and means that I still won't eat dinner after work, which has proven to be a great time-saver.

So I woke-up on Wednesday morning, not feeling sick for the first time this term. And before even brushing my teeth, I made a fruit smoothie for breakfast.

And then I felt sick.

Not so bad that I didn't go to yoga class though.

I did an hour of my course after that which... well it's kind of like yoga, in that barely doing it for the last three or four months, I feel completely out of my depth and overwhelmed. I don't really understand what I'm watching or what's going on.

But on the other hand, I'm just so happy to be able to get back to it again, I'm quite content to sit there completely lost and confused. It's better than not sitting there at all.

And although I'd survived a yoga class without throwing up everywhere, my stomach still wasn't feeling great, so I opted for a safety lunch of fruit, nuts, seeds and crisps. Food that my body had already proven that it was able to keep down.

And it did again. So I made it through another day without throwing up on any students.

Score!

And this circadian rhythm fasting fit-in much better with real life. Basically I can eat as I did before starting any of these experiments, just without having dinner. So if I instead have a bit more at lunch, and take some kind of snack to work with me to have before sundown, that should maintain the calories that I was eating before, but mean that I'm eating at much more natural times of the day. So hopefully it won't give me food poisoning.

I haven't yet figured-out how it'll work on weekends, when I'll be leaving for work around 6:45am, and not getting home until after 5pm, so basically working or commuting through all hours of daylight but... well I'll figure something out.

The weekend schedule got confirmed on this day, and true to his word, my boss had given me the three classes he'd asked me about.

Like I say, I can't complain about this term compared to the schedules that other teachers have, but this was still a tad frustrating, because no sooner had the schedule been posted, than another teacher said to me that he wished that he'd got three weekend classes (he has a couple of kids, so needs the money).

Well, I guess we weren't hurting as much as my manager had led me to believe then. Those are the mishaps that are going to happen in preference-form free world though. I won't complain about it for once. I'm getting the most money for the least work so... fuck it.

I don't want the money. As always, once I pay for the essentials to survive (rent, food etc.), I think that time is far more valuable than money. After all, what's the point in having money if you have no time to spend it?

But I've got eight unpaid weeks coming up, assuming that I am still in this job come September. So I suppose that the money'll be useful.

And considering the minefield that weekends are now, with juniors classes, private students, and other specialist courses that we never used to offer, having just normal classes to teach, albeit a lot of them, is still a blessing.

So I'll just shut up, take all the money, and stop complaining about it.

It wasn't until Thursday (yesterday) that my stomach finally felt strong enough to finish making the quinoa curry that I'd started two days earlier.

Before I did though, I threw-out the remaining bread and fake tuna salad mixture that I had leftover from Monday. And I made a point to smell them both before throwing them in the bin to see how my body reacted.

The tuna salad mixture, sniff, sniff, no problem.

The bread, sniff, sniff, "blaaaaaarrrrrrrgh."

It didn't quite made me sick, but it almost did. Alright, I think that the bread was the problem. My body seemed to have a convulsive reaction to even smelling it.

The Hell was wrong with that bread then?

Save for when I was in China, I've had and regularly used that bread machine with the same ingredients since 2012. I've got dozens, if not hundreds of loaves of bread from it. The Hell was wrong with this one?

Up to this moment, I still haven't had any wheat in my diet again. And I'm kind of hoping it was something wrong with this particular loaf, rather than my body's developed an intolerance to wheat because... fuck, that would be inconvenient. I guess time will tell.

But I ate this quinoa curry, and sat there with relative confidence that... hey, I don't think that this is going to come back up again. That's a revelation.

I can have my first healthy day at work this term.

Wrong.

In a weird twist of fate, as I was walking through the shopping mall that my school's in, I saw a woman stop dead still, and hold her hand to her mouth, kind of like she was chewing on something, but she just wasn't moving.

The Hell is she doing?

A couple of seconds past, and then opening her hand as if to try and catch it, "blaaaaaarrrrrrrgh", she vomited all over her hand and the floor.

'I feel your pain,' I said to her silently as I walked as quickly as possible in the other direction.

I made it to work, and I started teaching, still in good health.

'What a revelation this day is,' I thought.

'What the fuck is going on with my knee?'

It's close to a decade now since I buggered-up my knee skiing. Which means that it's been more than a decade that I've been keeping this blog. I didn't notice.

And since fucking-up up my knee, it goes through phases.

At some times I think 'wow, it almost feels like there's nothing wrong with it. Maybe it's healed itself, and the doctor who told me I needed surgery was wrong all along.'

And then at others, I think 'wow, my knee is completely fucking fucked. I think that I need to get it fixed finally.'

It's a very up-and-down experience, having a gimpy knee.

Just when you think it's good, it's not. Just when you think it's fucked, it's good. It's quite a roller-coaster, I can tell you.

As I've said before though, I kind of look at it as a bit of a blessing in disguise, because I was a retard. In my younger years I had little to no regard for my safety, and getting this injury, and thankfully nothing more serious, was kind of the wake-up call that 'hey dummy, you're not invincible.'

Any time afterwards that I've thought about doing something stupid, I just think of my knee and be like... 'alright, this is probably a bad idea.'

Getting a minor injury like this, may well have prevented me doing something far more damaging later on, so it could be worse.

But it is a bit of a temperamental injury. And during my yoga class on Wednesday, as I was twisting into a pose, it made an almighty 'crack'.

I winced as if I should have been in pain, but then I realised that I wasn't.

It does that sometimes, it cracks into place, and it feels like it should really hurt, it just doesn't, so I didn't think anything of it.

It tightened-up a little bit after that for the rest of the day, but nothing out of the ordinary. I'm used to it tightening and loosening. It's normal.

Then yesterday, I got into work fine. No problems. Until I started teaching and was like... why can't I straighten my leg anymore?

There was swelling so bad that I could see it through my trousers.

That's more of a reflection on my trousers than my knee, having bought them two-and-a-half years ago when I only weighed about 65kgs, and they were tight then. But they also only cost 200 baht.

And my disdain for shopping means that over two-and-a-half years, I haven't got around to replacing them yet.

But for some unknown reason, and completely pain-free, my knee just swelled-up.

Well this is weird.

By the end of the day it was bad enough that I had quite a limp. And on the walk home, extending the joint enough that I wasn't walking like a total spacco, meant that it was hurting a bit by the time I made it to my apartment.

Well I have absolutely no idea what's going on right now.

The swelling had gone down this morning, but it still had a feeling of... yeah, I probably shouldn't push this. So instead of going to the supermarket, like I was planning, I decided to rest today.

Which gave me the opportunity to write in great detail about all the vomiting that's been happening, so I'm sure that you appreciate that.

And... well now I just hope that it's fine by tomorrow morning. It never rains but it pours.

I am realising in life, that something always has to be wrong.

If I'm feeling good physically, then I'll be pissed-off, or dealing with a shitty schedule from my boss. If I'm in a good place mentally, then my body starts breaking-down or I start vomiting everywhere.

If the worst thing that I'm dealing with is a swollen but pain-free knee then... fuck it, that's pretty good.

It's better than a severely sprained ankle. It's better than an unnecessary split shift. It's better than planning endlessly. It's better than vomiting everywhere.

So life could be worse.

So when, or if I get through all of these ailments of which I seem to be suffering, for the first term in a while, I can't really complain, particularly compared to other people. I actually have a schedule that I can live with.

Of course, it wouldn't even be this bad had five teachers not felt compelled to quit last term, but I won't dwell on that anymore.

With me at least, my boss has been very fair this term, so for the first time since he took-over really, I'm actually content in this job.

Not so much so that the thought of leaving has left my mind altogether, although if I actually get around to doing something about that is a different matter entirely. But short-term, present tense, things are actually pretty good for once.

Am I feeling stressed?

Not at all.

Am I feeling angry?

Not at all.

Am I feeling frustrated?

Not at all.

Am I vomiting everywhere?

Sure, but there has to be a trade-off.