It goes without saying. Real sick days are faves for like no one. You’d be hard pressed to find someone who enjoys being congested, tummy aches, back aches, runny noses, hacking coughs… Well you get the picture. Popular opinion seems to be that you got sick because you were doing too much and may need to just sit your behind down. Although this may be so (particularly in my case) it doesn’t make it any easier to endure.
I’d love it if my recent sick days were mental health days instead of nursing my sneezes and burning chest. I mean how am I supposed to get any work done when I feel like a developing rainstorm cloud is forming in my head? All I want to do is sleep and I’m restless. Concentration is a no-go, so writing a good story isn’t happening. I mean I could write a crap one but then that would frustrate me even more. So television it is. Seems like I’m just wasting the day away, right?
Then it occurs to me. The taking in of other stories inspires me to create my own. Perhaps I could use the time to not dump on myself for watching a whole day (or three days) of television. You see my problem here? I’m not comfortable feeling unproductive. Can’t just let it go and be in bed and claim my title as sick. My eyes are burning and tummy in knots but I’ve washed two loads of laundry, washed dishes, took some book notes, and now I’m here blogging. Might as well ask for your forgiveness if there are any spelling errors cause my eye is barely healing from the whole eyeliner incident and now I’ve got burning sinuses to boot.
Sick days just have me in limbo. My husband has been great about going to get the toddler from school and making her dinner. Still I thirst productivity and then I don’t have enough energy to gain real traction on anything but laundry. Beating myself up over not finding the will to work makes for social media annoyance. Can’t even scroll in peace. So I’m grumpy. Although weirdly less go because I’ve griped to you about it. Definitely the type of misery that loves company.