About a month ago, I thought, You know, when I get sick, I bet I’ll be able to handle it better. I won’t have to worry that I can’t drink or drink as much, and with all my new-found peace with meditation and Buddhist practices, I’ll calmly accept my sickness and view it as just a learning experience.
Well, that’s not the case. I have a little cold–we’re talking sneezing, coughing, and a low-grade fever–and you’d think I had yellow fever or something. I walk around (or sit in my chair) and announce to my family that I don’t feel well, as if they didn’t already know that. Really, people can assume correctly that I feel awful until I announce that I’m better, but do I subscribe to that notion? Of course not. I wheeze and sneeze from my chair and groan when I get up and remind my children that they’ll have to wait to eat because I’m sick. I’ll get to making lunch eventually.
It turns out that I’m just as irritable and self-pitying when I’m sick as I was before I got sober. I guess that’s understandable. It’s not like sobriety and meditating has turned me into a monk. And I bet some monks complain when they get sick (unless they’ve taken vows of silence, and even then, I bet they complain to God).
Life is suffering and all that, and I want to feel better. There’s not much to be done except get through it. This time, at least, there won’t be a drink waiting for me at the end.