New Year’s Day is the worst day of the year to be sick. Why? Because everyone just assumes you are hung over. I was good. I went to bed at 10:30 and didn’t have as much as a sip of beer. Mostly because New Year’s Eve is my least favorite holiday and I knew I’d be working today. Still I woke up with a fever and upset stomach. How is that fair?
The animals are as apathetic towards my health as they are towards holidays. They didn’t care that I’d thrown up three times or that caffeine deprivation causing a lovely migraine. I skipped my morning coffee because I knew I wouldn’t be able to keep it down. My head punished me for being kind to my poor stomach. Also not fair. Though mostly my fault for fostering a caffeine addiction.
Steve worked Thanksgiving and Ryan worked Christmas while I had off so there was no way I was telling them I was sick. Steve had the day off and I didn’t want to leave Ryan on his own. Plus he’d already said we’d do chores and call it a day so I figured I could muddle through a few hours. And once I got everything out of my stomach I was at least functional. Queasy, yes, but there was nothing left in me so I managed.
Days like today make me wish I’d never read The Omnivore’s Dilemma. The farm work wasn’t the problem. It’s the food. All my body wants is some nice chicken or egg drop soup. Before Michael Pollan, I would have called the local Chinese restaurant and had hot soup delivered right to my door. As easy as picking up the phone. Now I know better. I know about GMOs and chemical preservatives and MSG. But I still want soup which means I have to make my own from scratch. That is the last thing I feel like doing at the moment. But I need to eat something because tomorrow we are catching all the steers down at Lundale and bringing them back to the home farm. Being sick isn’t an option.
Anyone want to come make me some soup?