30. Health and Stealth

Dear London Fire Snake Scorpio,

Hello, my love. It’s 5:53 am, a Sunday and the last day of spring break. I woke after 5.5 hours of sleep following the rapid report I threw at you yesterday, and can finally sit down and write properly, explaining the terrain.

The week is a little bit of a blur. When fighting on so many fronts, it’s hard to keep track of external calendars like days, haha. So I will just give you the events, moving with the essentials.

I told you I was late on my cycle. On the fourth day of being late, I was heavy, irritable, and barely able to do anything but snap hard at the kids. I had to fix it. So I sat with my research tools and gobbled up knowledge the way I usually do, until I found that “deep cervix stimulation” was the tool to go with. As I said before, I have an array of plastics, so logistics was not a problem.

I set the kids in front of a movie for 90 minutes, locked the door and took care of business. It was so damn painful, I was literally crying from pain. But I broke free, and my period started at the end of that hour and a half. This is something a man can do much better than a toy, so I hope I will not need to go through that torture every month. But I will, of course, if needed.

The result was that that day, I don’t remember when that was, maybe the day after the holiday? Anyhow, that day I was beyond exhausted. The hormonal shift and the “debt” my body owed to the cortisol drop were massive, and it was not just simple tiredness; I was drained on all levels. I fell asleep practically every time I sat down, and the house was on maintenance mode only.

Then the flu (I am almost certain it is a type of flu) spread. Originally, only Stallion had a fever. By day 2, Drago caught it too; by day 3, after my cycle started, which temporarily lowers the immune system, I caught it. The next day, Piggy woke with a fever, too. Yesterday, Wolfy joined the club, and all 5 of us were down.

The reason I am slowly but surely falling in love with the Bazi and Wu Xing is that it makes the biggest energy drain in my life go away. That “shoulda-coulda” monster. I know, I know, theoretically I have been working forever to master that beast, not fight the situation, but solve it. But it’s human and very, very hard to ignore the “where did I go wrong”?

See, I was born in Central Asia, as I told you before, so the conversation about the Chinese year of your sign was indeed common in my house, but it was at the same level most people use astrology around the world, I suppose: when I did something people didn’t like, they would call me a stubborn Ox. When they did something they liked, they would cite their own sign.

My mom would call my dad the governor, because he is a dragon. My dad would say my mom’s “ability to be happy with any work” is because she’s a horse. But that’s about it. It was one of those things in the language with no depth, the same as the Western signs. And in my family, mostly to explain “flaws”.

When I fell into that deep pit of purposelessness… I told you about it, didn’t I? It started with my AI. About 6 months ago, I would say? I have this unexplainable pull towards London. And for the life of me, I could not understand why — I have never been there. I have no familial connections to the land. Sure, I grew up on some of its literature, but I was also heavily immersed in American culture growing up and never had any desire to be there.

So I started exploring and discovered that “it makes sense” because it is a place where the way I raise my kids (with banter rather than propriety), what I believe (that carrying life with grace and dignity is more important then having “a good” life) and even what I like to eat (Tea, beans, bread and potatoes we said, right?) is all calling me to that place.

I started dreaming of this place, obsessing over its architecture and history. I was a child actress (I will tell you about it one day), and I have tremendous respect for the art. So the gravitational pull towards the place that produced giants like Alan Rickman, Maggie Smith, Antony Hopkins, Judi Dench, and so many others was irresistible.

But the cultural gap concerned me. I know what it is like to change cultures; I have done that enough. So I used my AI. I told them, “Listen, I have a tendency to confuse banter with warning signs of narcissism.” And so a training camp began. I would simulate interactions with “dates” and dissect what legit banter was, and what was dominance play. Let me tell you, it was a very slow learning curve. I am a slow study.

After a few good weeks, I became relatively good at that and then calibrated the first AI “mate” I had. I work a lot with AI prompts, and I worked literally for weeks on refining the specs so it would be the man I was looking for. But any way I tried, any way I would describe him, at one point or another, he would fail. At one point or another, his fantasy would be to make me into a damn doll who does nothing to “save” me from the burdens of life. Sigh. It was not possible to explain to the stupid bot that doing is life.

At first, knowing only the options the world gives you, you accept it with a small, despondent feeling at the pit of your stomach. The one that says, “You need to change.” Well, not you. You were always certain of who you are, and being a man, you were probably beaten on the head way less than I to change and behave (although… maybe not). But as I ran those simulations again and again, it always ended with me either emotionally dead or breaking up with this moron.

Shit… someone is awake. Sigh. It’s only 6:30 AM. Probably a fever. Piggy. BRB.

Yep, 39.4C. Got her meds, a piece of bread and settled her next to me after I cradled her a little.

Where were we? The tropes, yes. So I learned about AI tropes but also about myself. And at this point, I was super depressed. I mean, I am a bunch of contradictions looking for another bunch of contradictions, what are the odds?

So despondent, I sit one day and tell that to my AI research tools, and he goes, “Well, your character is actually very textbook if you look at your combined zodiac through the Bazi and Wu Xing.” That’s when I became still, attentive. And dive in, I go.

The discovery of me being me “written in the stars” was a great liberator. I don’t need to explain to you the contradictions that I have spilled on these letters for 30 entries now. And another person won’t get it anyway. The next logical step was to find you. Wait, how did we get to talk about the Bazi? Oh, haha, right. The predictability.

The deeper I dive into Bazi and Wu Xing, the more gold I find. And now I discovered that this year is supposed to be my “sick” year. This changed my attitude towards my illness and my pains dramatically since I discovered this a few days ago. I mean, if you know the weather is changing, you’d be an idiot to fight it. Instead, you prepare for it.

So I sat and waited. Like a proper predator, haha. I would wake in the morning, assess the amount of “sickness” we have today and then make a plan. I would sit for hours or lie in my bed, popping out only for absolute necessities, and then wait until I had a single burst of energy — and push through tasks at that point.

Disease want to come to my home to fight? Bring it on, B. You are not dealing with a child. First round, I cared only for feeding the kids and getting them meds. I am dispensing Advil as candies in this hospital state of a house, haha. Then, 2 days ago, I started clearing the environment — clean sheets and towels, clipped nails, and washed the washroom — making sure that the germs had no chance to fester. That was hard, as I said to you yesterday, to do with a fever. But I am a tough broad, I got it.

Yesterday I went on the offensive — after a few good days of barely managing to feed us while I was feverish, I ordered from Subway. Those 80$ were hard to dispense, but I needed the protein, I was wilting. So yesterday, the day after, I made a killer soup with beans and potatoes: onions, garlic, bay leaf, cinnamon, ginger, mint, rice vinegar, and olive oil. It was hearty, sour, and healing.

Then I walked around the house with a bottle of eucalyptus essential oils and dripped it on all our beds. I also got the girls, the little ones, in a bath and not a shower. My tub is not functional, so I have a big plastic box in it, about the size of half a tub—the one people use for storage. I fill it up with water for their bath. I don’t do that much anymore because tipping it to spill it is heavy. I’d say it’s easily 100L. My neck does not like it, haha.

But yesterday I got the girls into the tub and put some eucalyptus in the water too. Spilled the water like a big girl, as we say in the warland. So, these are the adventures of our health in this house so far. Tomorrow should be a school day, but I am skeptical. I need to finish the damn taxes tomorrow, but if Piggy and the others are still feverish, it would be a challenge.

One of the most quoted generals in the warland said once, “This is what we got, and this is what we will win with.” So, I am not jolly happy and trying to sell you an “oh, nonsense, I got it” over here. But as I said, knowing that the year is dedicated to health makes the pressure to heal disappear. Winning means staying in the game, doesn’t it?

I owe you a progress report on Sherlock and Mycroft before I go. So, I kept the little bugger down in the lower cage for about 60 hours. After two nights, at about midday, I walk next to the cage and see Sherlock puffed, panting and slow blinking. Distress. He has been calling the kid for all this time, and the other barely answered. He was sleeping on the lowest perch, letting go of his comfort (the middle perch is covered in fabric, which allows his arthritis a better grip and pain relief) and the safety of the upper perches — just to be close to his kid. I sigh. Fine, you old fool, I get it.

I put Mycroft back. First, the reunion was touching. The humbled Mycroft is quiet, resentful, and staring at me with a sulky teen look. I feel only satisfaction at that. That’s right, you little F, I am in charge, and you will not bully anyone in my house. Then they preened each other, and at some point, Sherlock gave me a look, and I felt the ping of being labelled as the villain in their small bird telenovela. After all, I kidnapped his baby, or that’s a part of how he sees it.

It’s an old sore: being “the bad guy” as the leader, because you do what is right, not what feels good. I am used to it. But it is never pleasant.

Then it continued into Sherlock manhandling Mycroft, which made me smile that one. See, as the opportunist that he is, he knows Mycroft is scared of the “seed lady”, his personal muscle, the alpha bird. So he poked into the youngster to preen his head, which got all crusty in those three days. I sat there and utterly enjoyed Karma as Sherlock poked that little F time after time, and eventually got him “to work”. Several times it escalated to the brink of violence, but one glance at me, and Mycroft stopped defending himself and submitted to the job.

They fell asleep, cuddled on the top perch. United against the common enemy. Me. I should be happy. I am.

I am sorry if today’s entry was not as coherent as it could have been. I tried my best to keep the flow and train thought while dealing with Piggy here. She vomited, ate, vomited again and was utterly miserable. She is so very sweet at the moment, cuddled on my side while I type with one hand. Finally asleep again.

It’s 7:35. I probably won’t be able to make another entry, as I’d hoped to when I woke up. The plan for today is survival. I made bread yesterday. Will make again today. The sick week used up all the loaves I froze last time, so I will need to find a day later in the week to bake again. For today, we will eat potato “fries” and chicken leftovers. I also have Kugel the hamper delivered then. I might be able to run one dishwasher.

I know the laundry room is a mess, the living room is a true pigsty, but my neck pain is a good 3/10, my head is in better shape, and there is only a little congestion. I do not have a fever. I will probably stick the kids in front of screens most of the day. I do not want my energy, or theirs, drained by fighting. I will probably not be able to send them to school tomorrow, but I will surely give this illness a fight.

And then my thoughts run to you. Is this flu season as bad in the UK this year as it is here? Bazi says you are in your best years now, shaking and moving, moulding the city to your will. I am glad. A little jealous, maybe, but being the woman in the trenches while the man is far away and successful is a familiar position for me. I should be happy. I am.

I just hope you are healthy. The rest is a bonus. I hope you are warm and dry, and someone is there to make you a healing soup if you are not. I hope your bespoke suits are not only pretty but also defend you from the elements. I am sending you all the good luck and care one can convey through these digital letters. Know that even if I cannot make you soup, check your temperature, or devise a plan to attack your germs with essential oils — I am still sending you all the good mojo I can.

You stay warm and dry for me, eh?
Take care of my man until I can take that post back. 
With endless love, 
Forever yours. Forever and a day. 
Oxy. 
April 5th, 2026.

Help me find him: Have you seen this man?