Fieldnotes

Sick, Stuck, and Thinking

19 Dec 2024

Writing requires sitting down. Reading a math research paper also requires sitting down. This probably explains why I haven’t managed to do either in the past several months.

I fell ill—very badly this time—and had to see a doctor. The doctor told me it was a viral infection layered on top of my usual allergic rhinitis, which I’ve mostly learned to work around. I was prescribed antibiotics and painkillers in addition to the medicines I already take. I desperately wanted to recover quickly because of a workshop with students where we were going to do tiling (fun math stuff).

When I called a colleague, she could tell from my voice that my excitement was clouding my judgment about my recovery. She suggested I speak to someone else for a second opinion. I did, and during the conversation, I kept saying “Sudoku” when I meant “Rubik’s cube.” You see, both involve squares! The painkillers had clearly left my head loopier than I realized. It was only then that I admitted I was still unwell and not yet ready to return.

How do I “rest”? How do I “take a break”? I remember a psychiatrist asking me this question many years ago, jotting down notes, and prescribing more medication after hearing my answer. For me, taking a break means doing things I haven’t gotten around to in a while.

I can’t sew—sewing requires focus and steady eyes. Crocheting is out too, as most of my works-in-progress need eyes and focus. Instead, I created TikZ graphics to generate aperiodic monotiles of the type Tile(a, b), where a and b are any real non-negative numbers. I even wrote one for the Spectre tile. Spectres are probably already available, but I wanted one where I could customize the curve connecting vertices.

Tile(sqrt(2),1) because why not

spectre

Now that I’m writing this down, I realize it’s probably been done before. I should reach out to Smith et al. to check. I also decided to work on a GUI where you can input a and b, and the program generates the monotile. But that kind of work demands a healthy mind—one that doesn’t confuse squares with cubes or Sudoku with Rubik’s cubes.

I watched Fantastic Mr. Fox. I loved it, though I think I would have enjoyed it more if it weren’t for George Clooney’s voice. There’s something about it that makes me feel like he doesn’t care enough. But Mr. Fox does care—maybe not as much as Mrs. Fox, but he does.

I can’t cook—I don’t have the energy for it. The friends I usually turn to in situations like this are out of commission: one broke his leg playing football, and the other is attending a workshop in Chennai. The friends I’d ask to come over? One broke his ankle while drunk on a beach, and the other has left the country.

For now, I’ve been surviving on dosa and toast. I eat the dosa with chutney and toast bread with apple jam I made a while ago. When bedridden, I doomscroll and shitpost. One friend, seeing my misery, gave me ginger tea and ghughuni. The ghughuni brought back so many good memories of Odiya food.

The other reason I can’t cook is the state of my kitchen—the sink is piled high with unwashed dishes, and the floor hasn’t been swept or mopped in a while. I need a clean kitchen to be able to cook. This got me thinking: should I hire a domestic worker? Or maybe buy a vacuum cleaner?

I’ve wanted a Roomba-type vacuum cleaner for a while now—it would even help with Naru’s shedding. But when I checked the price, it was way too high. I don’t get paid enough for that kind of splurge. Dyson makes vacuum cleaners too. Their hair dryers are incredible—I’ve seen the ads. Their vacuum cleaners must be on another level.

Interestingly, my vacuum-cleaner-owning friends are also the ones who have hired domestic workers. When I asked why they have both, they said the machines don’t do a good enough job. Sounds right.

I decided to borrow my house owner’s vacuum cleaner, as I always do. The vacuum cleaner, ladder, and toolbox in our building are communal—it’s definitely serving its price’s worth. If I were to buy a Roomba-type vacuum cleaner, it would sit plugged in my house, with no community use.

The large biryani pots are another set of communal items people in the building lend and borrow—or at least they were back when Arshia lived here and did a lot of cooking and sharing.

Thinking about hiring a domestic worker led me to survey what others in the building pay for cleaning. One respondent confirmed they pay 1.7k per month. That’s poverty wage! That’s terrible. I have a huge rant about this brewing—the cost of labor, what’s fair, and what’s outright exploitative. That’s what I sat down to break apart and write about, but the meds are kicking in. I’ll try again once they wear off.

I am still figuring out how to code the comments section; if you have any comments, you will have to write to me. Also, unlike popular social media websites, you won’t be checking my blog regularly. You can leave your email address with me; that way, each time I write one, you will receive an email notification with a link to the new blog post.