The best-laid plans of a failed chartered accountant never run smooth. I had expected this to rapidly become one long whinge about all of the chocolate I hadn't eaten, and all of the surprisingly embarassing things that I had actually eaten instead. Yet nearly three days into Lent I've written nothing at all.
This isn't because I've deliberately given up blogging. It isn't because I ate three Mars bars for breakfast on Ash Wednesday and am hiding in shame until I can think of something funny to say about it; I actually had a pear, a yogurt and a handful of sultanas. It isn't even because I've fallen out with the charming BT call centre somewhere in India which always cuts me off after failing to understand anything I've said, which is what usually happens when my broadband connection dies.
No. My body responded to the lack of chocolate by shutting down. Admittedly, I hadn't been feeling 100% for the past week or so - so I even made sure that I kept my sugar intake up by eating some rather odd Skittles Sours in the University of London Library on Wednesday morning (there was someone else sitting there eating something out of a lunchbox with a fork, so I'm thinking the 'no eating and drinking' thing is largely symbolic), and having two Appletizers in the pub on Wednesday evening. However, while still in the pub, my head started to hurt. Taking paracetamol seemed to do nothing for it, and when we left the pub (in theory to go and get some food) my eye-sockets started to hurt with every step I took. So I skipped dinner, and went home, figuring that an early night would undoubtedly 'fix' whatever it was that seemed to be holding my head in a vice and doing strange things to my eyeballs.
After a night during which I didn't sleep because it hurt too much - even though I couldn't even open my eyes without it hurting more - and during which I kept trying to move my head into a position which hurt less, only to find myself shaking uncontrollably every time I moved, I was a bit less sanguine about the whole thing. In fact, I was about 50% convinced I was dying, and panicking because my husband and I hadn't sorted out our wills. I even got the husband to Google symptoms of meningitis before I sent him out on a drug hunt yesterday morning (I was mostly reassured by the conclusion, and have since resisted the temptation to Google it myself to see if he actually got the right answer).
I managed about two hours out of bed yesterday, with the assistance of the type of neurofen which has codeine in it (it took about an hour and half to kick in, and only worked for about an hour or so - but at least it did sort of take the edge off things). By the end of the day I was no better than I had been at the beginning of it, and I was becoming even more convinced that I was dying - to the extent that I was even contemplating an interaction with the medical profession.
Thankfully, I fell asleep sometime around midnight, and when I woke up at about half past five this morning my temperature had gone back to normal. I still had to keep my eyes shut when it got light - although that has gradually got better in the course of the day, and I even made it as far as Waitrose in Fulham this afternoon (and got some Malted Milk biscuits, which tasted weird and sugary - but that might just be because they are). So chocolate hasn't really been a big issue yet. Hopefully I have that battle still to come.
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