Sunday, 19 February 2017

Netflix and Chills



photo credit



"I got chiiills, they're multiplyin'....."

Don't worry, I'm not about to launch into a rousing rendition of Better Shape Up from Grease - not least because with a slight hint of a 'tache and pasty un-made-up face I look more like Danny than Sandy right now. No, I've got chills because I'm sick.

Sick Adjective. 
1. to feel ill, or not well. 
2. A secondary word for awesome. 
3. Gross, disgusting. 
4. Tired, pissed off. 
5. Horny.
1. I feel very sick, I think I might vomit. 
2. Dude, that song is so sick! 
3. That was sick when he had sex with that gorrilla. 
4. I am sick of your attitude. 
5. Who wants to get sick with me?

Since we live in a ridiculous time when "sick" can now mean both violently ill and also amazingly cool, allow me to clarify: I'm sick in the old-fashioned sense. Did you really think a forty-something woman would be using the word in the new trendy slang way? Nah. That would not be "sick"...that would be embarrassing.


Sam...or Slimer?

So I'm sitting in my bed, bolstered by pillows and cushions to keep me bolt upright, since whenever I tilt even a few degrees to one side I leak snot like some kind of Ghostbusters blobby thing oozing ectoplasm, when it suddenly occurs to me: I've not been ill for ages. Sure, I've had the odd hangover, but that's entirely self-inflicted and doesn't exactly classify as illness; I mean, anyone who downs wine, j├Ąger bombs and cocktails over the course of a lively evening hardly expects (or deserves) to wake up feeling full of beans, right?

No, what just struck me was how rarely I feel as rubbish as I do now, which is as an extra from Thriller might do (i.e freshly dug up) and ergo, how lucky I am. I can't remember the last time I had a day off sick from work. Certainly not in the last two years (and I'm not about to start now: no-one likes a Sicknote). Health is something we all simply take for granted...until it's not there.


                    
The Thriller vid: still worth a watch, 35yrs(!) later


Just as we don't really appreciate our parents when we're kids - the endless dinners prepped, expensive trainers, school trips, dad being our personal taxi service, ferrying us about (mine still does sometimes - cheers Pops) - we also don't always appreciate feeling "normal"...until we don't. It's just taken as a given that we feel fine, thus allowing plenty of time to focus on the big stuff - like the size of Kim K's ass, Queen Bey's baby news, or our mutual loathing of Trump.

So this post contains no big revelation; it's just a simple expression of gratitude for my health. I'm not particularly religious, so I'm not quite sure who I'm addressing it to - not God, exactly. The Universe?

It's the same when it comes to discussing the ageing process. Of course I'd love to be gazelle-like (or maybe Gisele-like?) forever - springing about all plumped and pumped with the vigour of youth - but getting older is actually something to be proud of. I spend my days peddling "anti-ageing" products in my job as a beauty boutique manager - it's big business - but why are we so ashamed of getting older? Yes, I'd rather look like Bambi than a taxidermist's mishap, but a lived-in face shows character and experience. It says: "Oh I could tell you a story or two....." delivered with a sly, crinkly-eyed wink ;-)


photo credit

I reckon we need to change our attitudes towards ageing. I mean, we made it this far - so many don't. The alternative to getting old...is not getting old at all. I know plenty of amazing people whose lives were cruelly snatched like a rug from beneath their feet long before their time - some in their twenties and thirties or even younger.

Of course I bemoan the crow's feet when I look in the mirror as much as the next person, but the overwhelming feeling is gratitude that I'm actually still here. I've put my body through a lot over the years, but still it soldiers on and serves me well (even if it is starting to creak and click a bit in protest).

So although from the outside it might look like a sorry scene in my bedroom this Sunday afternoon: me slumped in bed during the day clad in fox-print peejays (well Andy did say to "buy yourself something foxy") accessorised with a big red bulbous hooter, sore from being blown umpteen times - I'm actually feeling decidedly upbeat.


Feeling bleugh: Netflix and a chill

I might on the surface of things be feeling fifty shades of meh; the scene more "Netflix and chills" than chill, but underneath the mountains of Kleenex and trashy magazines is an ashen-faced 40-something who's actually bloody grateful.
Grateful that this is just a cold.
Grateful that in a few days I'll be right as rain.
Grateful that by next weekend I'll be back to drinking wine and dancing with friends and taking my health for granted all over again....


About last weekend...clubbing with the gorgeous JenKat

But in the meantime, I'm just chillin'.

Fancy reading my back-story before you go any further? You can find my other blogs at:
www.costaricachica1.blogspot.com

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