Slumrat millionaire

I hit a new low this week doing nothing short of shitting the bed yesterday. 

It all started on Tuesday afternoon when I ordered a raw kale salad from a swanky health food restaurant in central london. I paid fifteen quid ($18.50) for a bowl of inedible plant which someone had apparently taken an undetectable dump on because it resulted in me being roused at 5am wednesday with a nausea so overwhelming it made me tachypneic. Moments later i was running to the bog and heaving out loads of cruciferous chunks (seemingly much more than the equivalent I'd eaten), followed by exorcist level green diarrhea, then more heaving, more diarrhea, and this continued for about four hours until my body composition emulated a cactus. Have you ever been sick like that? To the point where the thought of water makes you retch but your mouth feels like you'd spent a lifetime eating talc for breakfast?

anyway..

actually no, i'm going to rant on this topic some more. I mean, where is the reward for trying to be healthy? i am never eating that toxic green plant ever again. Why would i punish myself when I can eat pizza, burgers, and pasta and feel on top of the world? 24 hours later and I feel like i've been punched multiple times in the epigastrium. Oh and a little public service announcement: Pepto Bismol turns your poo black. I learned this the hard way thinking I had melena and was dying of internal hemorrhage, only to read the label and find out that bubble gum bismuth has this unfortunate side effect. 

I swear I live in the most expensive slum on the planet. East London is described as "edgy" which I guess is the adjective used to embody those times you walk out the door of your complex and are greeted by a large soft serving of human excrement. Two weeks ago I was chilling in my living room when a rodent suddenly appeared in the kitchen. No matter how many times I clean the dust reappears faster than it does in black rock city. The streetside intercom video doesn't work at all and the audio is intermittent which means we indiscriminately buzz anyone up who rings, notwithstanding the person who left the poo on our back doorstep. Our shower has two temperatures: scalding hot or freezing cold. But London is just so, ahhhh. We love it and love to hate it. Here is a picture of pest control making everything right in the world:

The purchase of nobility kale was a one off really. For the most part I have taken this period of quarantine to do things for myself. This includes meals as well as self care- mani pedis, and most recently waxing my own lady parts. I had had enough of the situation so bought a professional grade hot waxing kit and went berserk. Managed to remove all the hair  by myself! along with all the underlying skin to which it was once attached. 

I was a little surprised this weekend when I got an email saying that there was a package waiting for me at my office across town. I always find these scenarios when I have a delivery but didn't order anything very exciting. What could it be? Chocolates and flowers from a secret admirer? So I biked 40 minutes across town, conspiring along the way how I might possibly fit a gigantic bouquet of peonies or orchids in my bicycle basket. When I arrived, I was handed a square of plastic wrap smaller than my hand (and my hands while shaped like a man, are actually quite tiny). I opened it up. It was a roll-on of mosquito repellant. Was this some kind of sick joke? The celestial bodies above laughing at me for the trip to Thailand that got cancelled only days before the whole world shut down?

There have admittedly been some nice moments during this lockdown. I am actually a bit of an environmentalist so its pretty cool to see carbon emissions down by 60% in London and swans swimming in the same canal where I would otherwise expect floating syringes. I feel like I notice more  of these kinds of beautiful things- the smell of jasmine, the beautiful bearded and bunned man drawing a heart with red chalk on the sidewalk. These are stark comparisons to the other darker moments where I've found myself sitting alone at the river typing 'will I ever get married?' into the online magic eight ball.  The answer is always some variant of "my sources say no". The closest I've ever gotten to a 'yes' is "concentrate and ask again". In fact I just asked it again right now and it says "Very doubtful"

I guess that takes the discomfort in uncertainty out of some things. What it does not do is take the uncertainty out of whether or not I will ever dance in a sweaty, packed nightclub ever again, or if my laptop keyboard will ever revert to normal. You see, a few weeks ago I spilled a double margarita on it and probably got some flour in there too as I was making home made tortillas. The internal fan started blowing like hell and I was sure my computer was going to blow up in a spectacular show of living room fireworks. I was relieved when it persevered, only now the keys are so sticky that the computer is good only for watching The Real Housewives of New York. I am hoping if I throw some talc or olive oil in there they'll loosen up. For now I am using an external keyboard.

This has been the best, shittiest, longest, fastest year ever. I have realized that what makes me feel almost as bad as kale is taking care of myself. I am so bored with taking care of me. I would like very much instead to look after someone, or have someone look after me, but being independent brings a limited joy. Of course we can do things for ourselves, but isn't it so much nicer if someone does it for us? 

So who is volunteering to skill up and do my next bikini wax?