I'm sick. Again. A few weeks ago I had a mild head cold whose strongest symptom seemed to be fatigue, but came with a bonus side of congestion, headache and sneezing.
And now that cold is back and has taken up residence in my sinuses. I think Eamonn and the boys had it last week. I'm telling you, if Eamonn is sick, you can rest assured you're dealing with one potent set of germs. I swear he is Immune System Man--no germ ever brings him down. I can't remember the last time he took a sick day (unless you count that day after a night out with the cycling guys, but we won't go into that now). Last week he must have felt bad because he slept in. One day.
But yesterday I threw in the towel to this plague--whatever it is. It was a struggle and I didn't do it until lunchtime.
Why is it so hard for grown ups to take a sick day? What do we think will happen to the planet if we just stay in bed?
Let's face it--I work at home so really, if I'm sick, all I need to do is sit with my computer on my lap, mouth breathe to my heart's content, make the occasionaly groaning noise and just get on with work.
I tried that yesterday and I did finish my work.
I thought about the rest of my To Do list that I wanted to accomplish. It involved cleaning toilets. I really don't think there is anything more unappealing when a body is sick.
But those toilets were troubling me. Why? They'll still be there tomorrow. I had already put the stuff in (Clorox Greenworks, by the way--I'm an occasional convert). Was I worried about wasting the cleaning stuff?
Maybe I was just too lazy to go upstairs and get in bed.
But finally, I did it.
After putting dinner in the crockpot.
And cleaning the toilets.
Folding some laundry.
And setting the alarm on my phone to wake me up in time to pick up the kids.
So technically I didn't take a sick day--I took a sick 90 minutes. But then I went to bed at 5:45pm.
It's a start, I guess.