A Bad, Bad, Cold

I am rarely ill.  Hearty peasant stock is how our family refers to the fact that TBG is laid prostrate with what barely bothers me.  If I do come down with something, it doesn't last more than 24 hours.  I go to sleep and wake up refreshed and healthy.

Would that that had happened last night.

Instead, I was up every three hours, medicating and whimpering and coughing and achy.  TBG knows not to disturb me when I'm in this state; where he requires hugs and rubs, I desire to be left alone. Don't touch my fevered brow.  Just let me wallow in self-pity, and then heal.

Unfortunately, I didn't heal last night.  I woke up this morning just as congested as I was when I lay my head on my pillow last night.  I'm alternately sweating and freezing.  I can't fall asleep, but the words I'm reading in the library book are swimming in my brain, not really making connections.  I keep forgetting who the characters are.

I've picked up the pre-ordered groceries.  I'm doing laundry.  These chores were required by time and circumstance.  The fun stuff I had planned - squats at the gym, re-potting the tulip bulbs I'd forced inside, organizing the yarn and its concomitant supplies, sweeping the clutter off the desk in hopes of replacing it with some kind of order - all that is still available to be done.... if only I could muster the energy.

So, the sun is shining, the pool is welcoming and I'm slumped on Douglas-the-couch, coughing and sniffling and generally feeling wretched.  I don't think it's the flu or anything more than a common cold.  I don't think I'm going to be sick forever.  I imagine that tomorrow or the next day I'll wake up with a clear head and all the energy I need to do what I need to get done.

Unfortunately, right now that's in the future.  My present consists of super soft Kleenex and a good book I'll probably have to reread if I want to remember any of it at all.

Thanks for listening to me whine.