This has been interesting.
I caught some bug, perhaps the flu, and spent all Friday in bed with books, magazines, and water.
Reading all day wasn’t especially interesting — I do that anyway, more frequently than my conscience prefers. But running a (for me) fever, aching all over in a non-committal way, feeling too tired to do but not tired enough to sleep… . That last was the real stunner.
See, I don’t become bodily ill very often. I seem to have a tough frame aligned with tough Scots-Irish mental training–if I did happen to be ill I likely wouldn’t notice. Case in point: My Sweetie asked me yesterday evening if I had body aches, and I automatically said, “No.” Mind you, there was this muscle-cramp sensation running from the base of my head to the soles of my feet that had gone on all day, but it wasn’t any more interesting than the short-calf-muscle sensation I commonly get, so I’d been ignoring it. In an unusual move, I caught the “no” immediately and corrected it.
Even without recognizing the aches, though, I knew when I got up that morning that I was sick. My sinuses were a different kind of stuffy. I had a cough that came and went instead of being varieties “get this dust away” or “stupid asthma.” And my head felt attached differently.
That likely was the tipping point. I am thinking-centric, after all, and by 7:30am I could see that the thinking was not properly wired. My “space heater set on low” sensation merely iced the cake.
I took to bed. I figured I’d knock out the day by sleeping through it, and pop up myself on Saturday morning. Ha! Nice try, Control-Brain.
I neither had enough brain to read the engaging stuff (Eugene Petersen, Elle) nor was drained enough to read a paragraph and keel over. Or stare into space…I’ve always been horrible at staring.
Instead I played obsessive games of smartphone Solitaire (no shuffling! no dealing!) and read Terry Pratchett novels. Props to daughter B for the Terry Pratchetts: they hit the day’s mental sweet spot.
I did once think about this blog. There weren’t any coherent thoughts that followed, however, so I gave it up as a bad lot.
It’s now Saturday morning. I fell asleep pretty much on time last night–a teen sleepover complicated that some–and woke up on time after a usual night’s rest. I’m not well: congestion remains, voice is a fade-away tenor, there’s a trace of fever. But I’m well enough to have breakfast out with My Sweetie. And well enough to write again.