The spirit is willing but the flesh is weak
I woke up this morning, thinking about all the things I wanted to get accomplished today.
And as these merry little plans danced in my head, my body got wind of the rumors and said, "Like HELL you are!"
When I was young, having a cold was an annoyance. No big deal. Slap on an extra pair of whatever keeps you warm, drink some tea with honey and lemon and get on with it. I remember runny noses and coughs that were just a pain in the butt, not something that drove me back to bed.
I don't remember aching muscles and joints, and feeling weak, and eye-watering headache.
I don't remember the Great Rebellion occurring, let alone winning.
I'm really trying not to whine about it--the logical part of my mind is telling me that it really isn't any more of a big deal than it was when I was a kid.
It just feels that way.
But the worst part of it isn't that I feel this way--it's that my brain is still thinking of the million and one things that I want to do, even though my butt has apparently glued itself to this chair, shivering.
Finn isn't helping much. He is intimately, spiritually close enough to me to be aware of my debilitated state, and has therefore decided to take this opportunity to do all the things that he knows are Naughty Things That Make Mom's Head Explode.
He's carried the upstairs sink stopper downstairs to the living room, along with the sponge I keep next to the sink. He turned off my computer by sneaking behind the desk and walking on my surge protector's power button. He's knocked my alarm clock behind the bedside table (why always "behind"? why not "in front of"?) He dug a hole in the potted amaryllis (without making a deposit--thank the godz for small mercies!) and then left dirty footprints across the kitchen floor. There have been sundry crashes from different parts of the house that I have yet to investigate, because I lost my legs somewhere around here.
I'll check it out once I find them.
Oh, and the dog, through absolutely no fault of his own, has puked. Twice.
Daisy helpfully tried to scratch away at the carpet in the attempt to cover it, because she knows I'm having a bad day, but...yanno...ineffectual at best.
I have no idea what to do for dinner, I really wanted to vacuum the livingroom floor today, I wanted to bake a batch of banana muffins, I wanted to do a shopping...
Maybe I'll just take some more Nyquil, turn on the Weather Channel and go back to sleep...
I'd give anything for the old green vaporizer of my childhood, steaming away in the corner and belting out blasts of tincture of benzoin...
And as these merry little plans danced in my head, my body got wind of the rumors and said, "Like HELL you are!"
When I was young, having a cold was an annoyance. No big deal. Slap on an extra pair of whatever keeps you warm, drink some tea with honey and lemon and get on with it. I remember runny noses and coughs that were just a pain in the butt, not something that drove me back to bed.
I don't remember aching muscles and joints, and feeling weak, and eye-watering headache.
I don't remember the Great Rebellion occurring, let alone winning.
I'm really trying not to whine about it--the logical part of my mind is telling me that it really isn't any more of a big deal than it was when I was a kid.
It just feels that way.
But the worst part of it isn't that I feel this way--it's that my brain is still thinking of the million and one things that I want to do, even though my butt has apparently glued itself to this chair, shivering.
Finn isn't helping much. He is intimately, spiritually close enough to me to be aware of my debilitated state, and has therefore decided to take this opportunity to do all the things that he knows are Naughty Things That Make Mom's Head Explode.
He's carried the upstairs sink stopper downstairs to the living room, along with the sponge I keep next to the sink. He turned off my computer by sneaking behind the desk and walking on my surge protector's power button. He's knocked my alarm clock behind the bedside table (why always "behind"? why not "in front of"?) He dug a hole in the potted amaryllis (without making a deposit--thank the godz for small mercies!) and then left dirty footprints across the kitchen floor. There have been sundry crashes from different parts of the house that I have yet to investigate, because I lost my legs somewhere around here.
I'll check it out once I find them.
Oh, and the dog, through absolutely no fault of his own, has puked. Twice.
Daisy helpfully tried to scratch away at the carpet in the attempt to cover it, because she knows I'm having a bad day, but...yanno...ineffectual at best.
I have no idea what to do for dinner, I really wanted to vacuum the livingroom floor today, I wanted to bake a batch of banana muffins, I wanted to do a shopping...
Maybe I'll just take some more Nyquil, turn on the Weather Channel and go back to sleep...
I'd give anything for the old green vaporizer of my childhood, steaming away in the corner and belting out blasts of tincture of benzoin...