Cake or Death?

Those are the words that are engraved on the back of my iPod. It’s from a comedy routine by the perfect and wonderful Eddie Izzard. If you are not familiar with Eddie, please, please, please, look him up on Netflix or iTunes or something… please! That’s my gift to you.

I’ve hinted at the fact that I am a person who does very well with repetition and when I like something, I really like it and when I loathe something, I really loathe it. For most things, I’m just not a middle of the roader. And I don’t grow tired of the things that I love. So when there is a bit of music or an artist that I adore, I listen to them alot. A lot a lot. A couple of years ago, I discovered an Italian pop singer that I really liked, Filippo Neviani, also known as Nek. I listen to him quite a bit. And lately more than usual. So much so that I have begun to refer to my iPod simply as Filippo.

Such as…

“Where is Filippo?” “Wait, I have to get Filippo for the drive.” “Filippo needs charging!” “OMG, I almost dropped Filippo!” “I hate the way Filippo falls to the bottom my purse and turns himself on.”

Yesterday I was in Carboy’s truck and Filippo was sitting on the seat next to me. Carboy put the car into reverse and Filippo slid across the leather seats. “Filippo! Oh NO!” Carboy started to laugh so hard, he had to stop the truck.

“It’s an iPod.”

“It’s Filippo.”

“You’re possessed.”

“I think you mean obsessed.”

“No, I definitely mean possessed. And you aren’t actually Italian you know.”

“But I can embrace my inner Italian.”

“Just so long as you aren’t embracing random Italians.”

“That doesn’t sound like much fun.”

“Fromage.”

“That’s French, but good for when we go to France!”

“Fromaggio. You’re not French either.”

“Perfecto. But I can embrace my inner Frenchie too.”

“They might not enjoy being embraced as much as the Italians.”

“It’s not about them. It’s about me.”

“How could I forget. Is Filippo okay?

“Yeap and ready to sing!”

“Is is possible to listen to something else on the stereo?”

“No. It isn’t. Shhh, Filippo is singing.”

I hate sickness. I hate being sick. It’s because being sick is a revelation of inner weakness. It’s not our fault, most of the time. But that’s not really the point, is it, fault. It’s still weakness from within. And there is very little that I have less patience than my own weakness. I think it has something to do with being female and being tiny. I can’t escape the idea that there is a preconceived notion that because I am a small girl that I am less competent, less strong than others. It’s not just the coughing, the sneezing, the aches and pains of illness but the internal weakness of not being strong enough to work in spite of, to rise above, and to be greater than.

If there is a lesson to be learned it’s that sometimes trying to rise above or work in spite of is a pyrrhic victory. What is the point of winning a battle at the cost of the war? A warrior learns to pace themselves, they learn to expend energy wisely, and they know when to rest and when to heal. Rest and renewal is just as important as running and fighting. All in the right time, all in the right amounts.