Table of Contents
Hi friends!
I looked at my computer’s clock at 3:34 p.m. Wednesday so I could remember the first moment of feeling sick. It was a sudden sinking feeling in my head and a slight congestion in my left nostril. I chose to go into the office this day because it would be convenient for my post-work plans. One of my coworkers tried and failed to get my attention, so once I half-heartedly apologized I blamed it on the feeling that began at 3:34. I took a single acetaminophen pill.
My illnesses always start with this congestion or with a subtle soreness in a far corner of my throat. I tend to get a cold or something like it once a season, and getting wiped out from COVID x flu vaxxes last month didn’t count as my winter sickness. I used to get sick all the time as a kid just like most kids do, but I did get whooping cough in 5th grade, hilariously enough. I grew up always trying to work/learn through my sickness, but that changed once the pandemic hit. Now when I’m sick, I completely melt and let it happen.
For the first time in a while, I wanted to try getting through it, more or less. If I could will illnesses away in my youth, why can’t I do it now? After work, Meera and I had passes to the spa on Governor’s Island. Since I finished up before her, I went to PF and speedwalked on the treadmill for an hour. If this was going to be my last workout before breaking my 5 day/week streak, it was going to be what I hoped it would be pre-3:34.
Gym done. Spa slayed. Did you know the Governor’s Island Ferry goes at night, only accessible to island residents and spa customers? It was so much fun, and I feel like such a restorative place should be great for someone about to get sick, right? I got home, had two drinks with dinner, and took Nyquil before falling asleep.
Welp
My body woke me at 5 a.m. to puke my guts out. Throwing up is always so jarring, especially when you aren’t drunk. Either I didn’t wait long enough after drinking to take Nyquil or I was really getting sick.
Thursday. Not perfect but definitely much better post-puke. Tried working. Sort of succeeded, but could have been better. Felt sluggish. Nothing crazy though. COVID test was negative. Got my hair cut and colored. It’s the darkest it’s ever been, and I like it, although I’m still getting used to the length since my hair has been so long for so long. I hadn’t cut it since April, which probably a new record for me. Finished up some work. Went to Spanish class. This was when I started to feel myself really sink. Just get through this night.
Drinks with Max and Justin and Meera. Love them so much. I can’t really taste the drinks as well. Uh oh! Open bar after. Okay, I can’t taste these rum and cokes. The girls want to stay out, but I ask them to add a stop for my place. I paced myself tonight, but no pills this time. Sleep.
Friday. I’m up early because my body is so angry. No hangover, but I’m leaking out of every facial orifice. I’m coughing like I’m smoking for the first time but it turns out I’m smoking one of those menorah-shaped joints or something. I check my temperature. 104. Yikes! That’s not a number I want to see again.
Thankfully, that’s a scary enough number to rid yourself of any responsibilities. I called out of work and would have done so the next two days if they were weekdays. I was supposed to host one of my friend’s friends (who’s now my friend, of course!) while her crew stayed in New York, but I had to pawn her off to a different friend so I couldn’t infect her. Maybe tonight I’ll come to the bar! became Well, hopefully you’ll see me on Sunday and then Sucks that I missed you guys this weekend.
Whenever I’m sick, I describe myself on a scale of being fit for public consumption or not (what a womanly thing of me to do!). This bout, whatever it was, had me very unfit for public consumption. My coughs were mighty enough to wake Meera from her slumber, nose stuffy or runny enough to blast through rolls of toilet paper. My nose is raw from all the bugling; my face is a graveyard of dry skin. I wish I kept track of how often I checked my temperature. 104 was the highest, but it usually volleyed between 101 and 102.
Friday, Saturday, and Sunday all bled into one. I’d wake up around 9, move to the couch, and lie there until bedtime. I probably could read but I felt way too sick to motivate myself. I was confined to phone and TV. Each day I woke up praying my fever would die because I had zero desire to go to any doctor.
People are weird about getting sick! When are you being too dramatic? When are you understating your experience or endangering others? Hypochondriacs are the biggest turn off, so I hate talking about or hearing about small or imaginary illnesses (unless I love you). I get squeamish when people check in on me because umm…I’m FINE thanks. But no I’m not. But I’m also not dying. Just let me hide in this corner!
My productivity kick for the past four or so weeks has officially been derailed. Obviously wasn’t reading or working out or learning or growing! Just healing — as I should — which means I have to remake those routines again. I’m not looking forward to it. Meera made green beans last night because we hadn’t had a vegetable in days, and I was shocked that she would expect a sick person to eat vegetables. I’m only meant to eat ice cream and other foods that that JD Vance propeller hat meme would eat.
The two main things that got me through this not-my-first-rodeo-but-still-not-fun sickness were Meera and television. I’m often pro-breakup, and if your partner doesn’t take care of you when you’re sick, dump them. Can’t personally relate though! We watched so much TV. I finished season 2 of Survivor, which I found the survival element interesting but the cast boring aside from sexy villain Jerri. The game gets boring after her elimination. I know nothing about Survivor, but she’s the franchise’s first sexy villain. Did she walk so Parvati could run?
I also — finally — —— after years of passively watching —— after learning about enough of it from my mom and the internet — started The Real Housewives of New York from the first episode. Season one is pretty boring, but season two is (the most used word on the show) fabulous. It’s crazy how this show destroys all of these women’s lives, or at least their marriages. This was the second Housewives franchise, so they were still able to get cool, connected people. It’s crazy how cool Bethenny was — just the coolest by far! — and her adorable friendship with Jill that we know eventually blows up. I’m almost done with season 2. I can’t get enough.
Anyways, it’s been about 90 hours since I last left the house, and I don’t think I’m going to change that tonight! I woke up this morning, and the fever broke. I worked today and only had to turn off my camera once to cough for an extended period. Today was a big improvement. I’ve been hovering between 98.6 and 99.6 all day. Did any of you ever read Fever 1793 as a kid, historical fiction about Yellow Fever? Great book. I feel like I blacked out the past few days and am just now remembering how to live. This newsletter probably wasn’t very fun to read because I just needed to diary. I’m gonna hibernate tonight and maybe tomorrow because Wednesday is my birthday!
Sydney’s sickness starter pack
Two pillows: A red flag about me is that I only sleep with one pillow every night. Having multiple pillows overwhelms me unless my sinuses are overwhelmed, then I need an extra pillow to lift my head.
Ice pack: The ones I have in my freezer last maybe 12 hours out in the world, which is kind of iconic.
Frustratingly sized rag for ice pack: A truly pressing problem in this obviously peaceful time we’re in — how can I find the right rag to hold my ice pack that covers enough space on my hand but doesn’t dip in front of my eyes? I need to watch TV!
Toilet paper in lieu of tissues: Tissues are obviously much softer and kinder to my face, but I’d rather not have any during a sickness than have a few that run out.
Unconventional trash receptacle: A bag of chips, a mail bag…anything but a trash can.
Thermometer: I’m sick!
Water bottle: Cure!
Tea: Cure!
Big blanket: Swaddles my feverish self overrun with chills.
Remote: The only surfing I’ll be doing during my illness, or maybe my life!
This week’s photo is from the selfie flurry I always take after a haircut. It obviously doesn’t look as good unstyled, but it’s still pretty nice!
Current fixations I want to mention
Food & Drink
I haven’t had taste in days, which might explain why I’m choosing Hair of the Dog. This is a summer intern bar that plays Bar Mitzvah music you wouldn’t want to be caught dead in past 23. However, they apparently do all of these free giveaways of hourlong open bar nights for you and dozens of your friends, which my friend Jen took advantage of. Obviously the options were limited and my well rum and cokes were strong, but this was kind of a serve for a random Thursday. Very few people outside of our party were there, and they spaced out to a faraway section of the bar. The DJ was actually pretty good once I had a drink in me. Again, don’t go here on a normal night; go here when your friend can spoil you.
Music
I planned on doing a Nathy Peluso deep dive this week because I’ve always enjoyed (other than her politicianesque name) her unmistakeable voice and cinematic songs. In my greatest fantasy, I’d get to blast “VIVIR ASÍ ES MORIR DE AMOR” for karaoke. I had her in the same category as Aya Nakamura: sexy, foreign artist whose songs I’ve loved but I’ve never listened through their whole albums. I didn’t really get through much of that dive because I fell ill, but one of the songs I liked the most was “BUENOS AIRES.” It’s a sultry cabaret number I wish I knew enough to sing. It’s just expertly crafted. I’m hanging onto each syllable. My Spanish teacher (Chilean but has lived in NYC for a while in case you wanted to know) this week said that the only city he thinks beats out New York for la mejor ciudad del mundo (the best city in the world) is Buenos Aires because its the real city that never sleeps. If Buenos Aires feels like this song, I should probably go.
Internet & Pop Culture
I struggle with the Internet lately because my most used social platforms are all owned by fascists or fascist sympathizers so they’ve been lamer recently. However, I spent this whole week sick (so you know I was scrolling) and I don’t know any good alternatives on my phone (Bluesky is too preachy). All I want to live in lately is the Sex and the City More More More promo, which feels like a druggy, sensual romp through Manhattan with the SATC ladies that I aim to emulate every time I hit the town. Watch it!
Television & Maybe Movies
Looking for a bad movie that’s actually really good? Killer Rack on Tubi is exactly what the title says. Meera’s coworker recommended this semi-musical, would-be-horror-if-it-wasn’t-so-funny to her, and it’s campiness galore. Betty is down on her luck at work and in love because she doesn’t have big knockers, but a demonic plastic surgeon named Cate Thulu gives her an insane rack that ends up possessing her and killing people. The production budget was clearly low, and the movie feels like it’s almost porn every few minutes, but it’s incredible. I think it’s the most I’ve laughed during a movie in a long time, and the laughs just kept coming. The plot actually makes sense, and the movie is actually fantastic. It’s not so bad it’s good; it’s so bad and so good. Here’s the title song if you want to cop a feel for the flick (rewatching the song right now…what a freaky movie HAHA!).
Journalism & Literature
I guess I’ve been reading New York mag enough to know authors based on their writing styles. “The Cruel Kids Table” read a lot like that obnoxious Charli XCX profile they published last summer, so I wasn’t surprised to find out that both were written by Brock Colyar. Cruel kids is all about the glitzy, urban young conservative crypto bros and influencers partying around D.C. during inauguration weekend. I was upset by both the subject matter and the way Brock wrote it. On the subject matter, obviously it’s sad to learn about people who hate other people so, so much. They’re just so eager and excited to use slurs and make offensive jokes. I just don’t understand why MAGA and/or MAHA people are so insistent on their right to offend. The whole story is everyone talking about how happy they are to use the r-word again. Obviously these words hurt, but almost even more than that…it’s just so boring to use them. There are so many more clever and funny ways to be funny. We also learn about the apparent existence of these MAGAys that Twitter keeps convincing me exist but I’ve barely met in real life. Obviously I’m coming to this story knowing I’m going to be grossed out by its subject matter, but I was surprised to read how (in my opinion) the writer almost idolizes them. First off, they think that the women there are the most beautiful (clearly they’re gay because you should look at the girls in the photos) and craps on unsexy Brooklyn libs (semi-fair, but at least we don’t want to deport people). They really lose me at the end of the story when they talks about how some of his jokes have skewed more conservative lately and how often they’ve started using the r-word. I just can’t imagine being so malleable or lacking so much of a backbone to be behaving like this, especially someone who uses they/them pronouns! They seems to take glee in the main conservative influencer they followed around introducing them to someone else as a queer, but a friendly one. Why would you want anything from a person who says an r-word variation three times in two sentences? It’s sad to watch someone who clearly wants to fit in so bad. I felt this way about them in the XCX article, too, and I also don’t like how they centers themself in these stories in which the subject matter could just speak for itself. Call me a stereotypical Brooklyn transplant gay or whatever but I just think we can all do better! Update: I saw this story posted on Twitter after I read it and (surpriiiiise) all the comments are transphobic insults towards the author. These people will never accept you! Do they write like this as protection from the inevitable backlash or because they want to be liked by losers? Who knows. Hope they have good friends.
Something I Saw in the Wild
Meera and I went to QC Spa, the spa on Governor’s Island (Did you know there’s a spa on Governor’s Island?) because they do a BOGO entry deal for your birthday month. Everyone there on Wednesday night after work seemed to be taking advantage of this deal in the pools and saunas we dipped between. Something I was surprised by: it felt like everyone was British. Why? I don’t really have much to say other than wondering what attracts young heterosexual British couples to this spa you can only get to by ferry. Are they all on holiday and staying in FiDi with nothing to do on a weeknight? Did the same TikToker that taught me about the spa teach them about it?