So it was Monday and then Thursday and I started feeling kinda crappy. Just out of the blue. (Or possibly even le bleu. I have international readers-don't cha know.) Worked Friday morning okay and then I came home and fell asleep for three and a half hours. Boom. Out like a light.
A cold. Another cold. Ye Gods. And I had pre-paid for a class at a fancy library way, way, way, over my normal fun budget.(Okay actually more ways than that.) But I had to do it because I was sinking. You know how that is.
And now I'm in that most miserable part of a cold-where really-you shouldn't even mingle with others in the Nyquil aisle, ya know what I mean? You are flat lining. And here's the other sneaky difference with this cold. It's come with a tremendous cough.
Which is really no big thing, right? Nyquil, a few days of rest-back to Swellville. But now! I have this hernia thang. So it's like a weakness along the incision between my belly button and the netherworld and so every time I cough, it's like-I spent a lot of time trying to decide if my body went into the letter e? or the letter G on it's back. Yeah I think it's closer to the G. My head whipped up and my legs flew up and my innards flew forward.
And then, my innards just started flying forward cuz they FELT like it so I'm having these wacky spasm things. It was ridiculous. Even Philip-watching me-was like: Whoa.
And I had this very expensive(to me) Saturday class. And I woke up feeling like the first pancake in a cold pan. Know what I'm sayin'?
In a seriously overdramatic moment, I said to myself, You wanna stay in bed here or you wanna go change your life?
I bundled my sorry ass up in a navy blue hoodie with a homemade sandwich, 5000 cough drops and a wad of fresh Kleenex and off I went. Altho we were seated in a square-I made my own quarantine section(yeah, I really did)and while I was not in my finest participation mode(I left the room twice. Both when people were discussing their kitty cat stories. Uggh. In my mind I pretended I was verbally allergic.) The class was supposed to be done at 4:00. At 4:45 they finally stopped talking.
Then back home to sleep and watch my innards fling themselves forward. Over and over and over again.
Painful. Like-do you know there are emails piling up in my inbox and I dare not answer them because this week has been such a horror show and if I dared say what I really wanted to at this moment in time? I'd have to move to an island. Alone.
Pain does some crazy stuff to ya. That is fer sher.
Then P got this genius idea. He said he actually got it the day before(I may or may not have snarled at him. I'm telling ya this week has been a bear.) he made it happen but herein lies the answer to probably like 49 percent of the torture: two words: cough syrup.
Now. On the other hand, in my work situations, I've once again had to take on the role of the weakest link-I know it's temporary but uggh, ya know? Even Philip was like, you were On The Road To Recovery! and I said: I KNOW. What is THIS s@#$? But at the end of an actual day-I mean an actual work-type day where I was participating-just not the way I want to be-I got out of my car at the end of the night and I had to stop and think about how massively kind people had been to me on that very day and how incredibly fortunate I am. My last massage boss-in what-five years?-I never heard him say: Now get out of here and go home and get some rest.
Next up. Two appointments early next week. Whoopie!