The Humour Is Off Me Now

There’s an old Irish song of a milking maid who sang; ‘I must get married for the humour is on me now.’ But after a year of marriage, her song turned to ‘Sayin' I'm sorry I ever got married for the humour is off me now.

I'm grumpy this morning. I’ve had no coffee; I'm out of kilter.  I bored with this stupid Lockdown.

Limited in what I am permitted to do, I've changed my diet.  I have always been curious about Ayurvedic medicine since I came across it several years ago during a well-being workshop with my friend Maria at Cork City International Airport.

Maria and I completed the questionnaire.   Maria got the same score as me, Pitta Vata which puzzled me.  Although we are both low-sized women, we have very different personalities.

Maria went for a consultation with Suzi two weeks ago and found it powerful.  With nothing to lose except the stone I'm wearing around my ass;  I signed up for it too.  You can diet any time in any way, but the appeal of the Ayurvedic method is that it is a holistic approach.  

I had my consultation with Suzi on Thursday.     Suzi explained I had too much Pitta; angry, cross, resentful and needed more Vata which is the playful, creative side of me.  That's what I needed to hear.  Too much Pitta manifests itself in the biggest organ of the body, the skin and my eczema has gone berserk on my right hand.  To bring my Vata back into balance I need to 'sweep the temple' and address the alkaline imbalance in my body, I must not eat/drink alcohol dairy, coffee, stimulants and meat.  I have no problem saying good-bye to meat and alcohol, but facing the day without my beloved Greek yoghurt and coffee, the crutch that gets me out of bed, is hard.  It’s only the 2^nd day and the withdrawal symptoms are savage. 

It's even harder when there are little or no distractions.  

So why do it?  I'm out of kilter.  When everything else has shut down, this is the perfect time to recalibrate.  In the first weekend of Lockdown, I guzzled my way through 12 cans of Bulmer's, a 12-pack of Taytos and four Cadburys bars.  I kept this up for the next four weeks.  I've long stopped that: the heartburn nearly killed me.  Then on a Friday night about three weeks ago, my friend Hilda called.  She had just been to Tesco's in Wilton and arrived at the door with slabs of Cadburys chocolate in different flavours and two large bags of crisps.  I hugged her on arrival. 

"Geraldine," she said peeling me off, "You're not allowed to do that."

I had the cider ready and waiting, but she said she couldn't as she was driving.  On a normal Friday evening, one can is enough to melt all my stress and to dissolve the barriers in my head that prevent me from reaching out to people.  The first can felt so good; I cracked open a second. In between drinks, I ate three squares of the mint Oreo chocolate bar.  Hilda and I were drilling down into philosophical matters when I opened a third. 

Hilda looked at me and said, "Are you sure?"

"It's Friday," I said, "I only have to fall up the stairs." I then repeated my lifelong motto, "What's the worst that could happen?"

I took a sup from the can and felt my stomach heave.  I waited for the moment to pass and resumed drinking.

At 11 pm Hilda collected her bits and bobs to go home. I pleaded with her not to leave.  I attempted to cut her off by the kitchen door, but she swept me aside.  She got to the front door before me, but as she sat into the driver's seat, I attempted to squeeze in with her.  Eventually, with the help of Hubbie, I released my grip on Hilda and she drove off. 

I joined Son (22) in the sitting room watching TV.  He pretended to be asleep.   I threw up that night. I threw up the next, and all the time, I tasted mint at the back of my mouth.  I felt wretched the whole weekend right through until Monday.

On Monday, Hilda rang.   "As you are sitting down?" she said. She sounded subdued. "How are you feeling?" 

"Sick," I said. "And I keep burping mint."

"That was the mint Oreo chocolate," said Hilda.

"I don't remember that."

"You only had three squares."

I felt nauseous just thinking about chocolate, "I'm never touching that again."

"Ger, I need to tell you something.  John (her husband) was tested positive at work for Covid-19."

"Oh, you poor thing.  How are you feeling?"

I'm grand, but I'm getting tested today.  But Ger, you need to be careful."

"Why?"

"Remember Friday?

"Yeah, but I only hugged you when you came in the door."

"Ger," insisted Hilda, "you slobbered all over me."  As she talked, it all came back to me.

"What will I tell Hubbie?" I said.

"Don't tell him anything yet. I'm getting tested today, and I'll let you know."

The following Friday, I received a text from Hilda, 'I meant to ring you yesterday, the test came back negative.'

All my life, I've wondered what it's like to live during an historical event that changed the world like the American Civil war, the War of Independence in Ireland, the Blitz in London and the Vietnam War.  On a girly shopping trip to Ho Chi Minh City several years ago, we explored the Cu Chi tunnels, which I found fascinating.  Later that day in a phone call to Hubbie, I told him that I could see myself as a Viet Cong guerrilla wriggling down one of those tunnels for the freedom of my country.  The heat would suit me fine.

"Where are you ringing from?" said Hubbie

"My hotel," I said.

"Is it a nice hotel?"

"Fabulous; it's a five star.

"Yeah, you'd make a great guerrilla."

Here I am in the midst of a global event which will change the way we work and live forever.  The world as we know it will never be the same yet I'm bored.  I wanted the planet to stop so that I could get off for ten days and that's exactly what I got.  Careful what you wish for.    I finally get to experience a world-changing global event, but I’m finding it's not all it's cracked up to be.  The humour is off me now.