I am sick. It's not the I'm-barfing-and-about-to-die sick, just the tired-and-loopy-with-sore-throat sick. It's the best kind of ill to be: everything slows down, and you can't run around doing all the things you usually do; you just want to sit or lie down and read or watch Jane Austen movies. Well, that is what I do, anyway.
When I am sick like this, I usually make grand plans in my mind about what I am going to do when I get better: I am going to practice sewing; I am going to read more; I am going to clean the whole house in a day; I am going to exercise very regularly and stop slacking; I'm going to paint a picture. It's like my mind has all the energy my body usually does, but it's trapped in a sloth's body.
Then I get tired from thinking so much.
As a child it was torture for me to be set down for a nap. I hated it. I wanted to get up and be with Mom, to do whatever she was doing, and have fun. Who wants to nap, I wondered? Why waste time?
And even now, I chomp at the bit when forced to slow down for a few days.
Maybe this time when I get well I can do one or two of the things I dreamed about while sick!
The Surgery, Part One
2 years ago