In his book ‘They F*** You Up’ Oliver james describes a childhood incident where he throws a bit of a tantrum due to not being happy about becoming a brother. The tantrum ends with him falling of the foot of a bed. For a few weeks after the young (18 months) James sulked scowled and pushed away anyone who tried to touch him. His parent, both trained psychoanalysts, put this behaviour down to, as many parents would, sibling rivalry. A trip to the doctors revealed that James actually had a cracked collar bone from his fall off the bed. James concludes this tale stating that his parent, one a medical doctor, had ‘confused the psychological with the physical’.
The last couple of days I’ve been feeling a little fed up and really worn out. I put it down to not being to come up with any writing, the impending end of my week off and my getting into exercising again after so long doing nothing. Until last night when I noticed my nose was running and I was actually getting a cold. Consequently I feel a lot better knowing I’m just a little under the weather (it’s more of a sniffle than a cold) and not sinking into some foppish artisitic strop. Psychological and the pysical. I wonder how many times I’ve confused them before?