On Being Sick

So there was a time in my life that getting sick, even getting the flu, had a kind of pleasure (I know, you want to talk about my real illness now). Seriously, I have semi-fond memories of being a kid, curled up on the couch, watching bad TV, mom taking care of me, funky fitful fever dreams as you doze in and out of sleep all day and night and, of course, missing school wasn't all that bad of a thing (although that changed as I got older). And even when I got older I didn't mind that feeling of your body telling you it is time to shut down for a little while as work and other responsibilities passed you by for a while. But this week, as I have fought some gunk, it just isn't the same anymore.*

First off, there are children which means that I am absolutely no help on that front (luckily Neats hasn't gone down yet). This of course is not helpful for someone who easily succumbs to guilt which of course makes me stressed which is no help at all.

Secondly, and speaking of stress, work has simply changed and there is just too

much of it. Add to that the fact that our office is small enough that everyone has a full plate of their individual stuff and when one person goes down, the others get slammed. Again, guilt, stress, and the cycle continues.

Third, technology is just no help here. I basically have my office at home and am not the kind of person who can just ignore what is sitting there in front of me. For instance, while I did take two 2-hour naps today I still managed to read the nearly 100 emails I received today and send nearly 70 of my own. Of course, the relationship of how sick I am to how much work I do requires some sort of pretty graph that I am too tired to create--suffice it to say it would most likely look like a roller coaster in which as soon as I start to feel better, productivity goes up resulting in starting to feel worse.

Finally, of course, being sick just makes me feel old and out of shape--guilt, stress, yada, yada. So off to another 12 hours of fitful, feverish sleep where I hope to dream of warmer weather, less work, baseball and gardens.

* Have to say that as I woke from a fitful nap on the couch and smelled dinner cooking including cornbread and homemade applesauce and heard the boys running about, I was actually back in that moment for just a second.

What Is My Body Telling Me?

It started yesterday morning--a hint of a sore throat, feeling a little tired, but there was still hope that having committed to getting back on a running schedule after metaphorically falling of the treadmill for a few months, my body was just saying slow down a bit, your old and out of shape.

But it got worse by mid-day. Again, perhaps just needed a bit more fuel and some hot tea. That lasted for about a nano-second and by late afternoon I was pretty miserable--tired, constricted throat, etc. I tried to to blame it on another dreadful planning meeting for an upcoming conference, but even after limping home, seeing the family, watching a few Hitler movies (that usually does the trick), nursing myself with a little of the usual and getting some dinner, nothing had improved. I was toast. My body was simply saying, your sick dude.

Great.

Then again perhaps my body knew that this news was coming out today and it just was trying to keep me off the roads for the sake of my mental health since really sleeping of a sickness really is in some ways preferable to commuting to attend irritating meetings, right?

Nap time.