Writing while sick induces Caroline Ingalls guilt
It's true. I'm sure I can blame this guilt about being sick on the fact that I took the time to reflect on being sick, and not just on blowing my nose and falling asleep at bizarre points. Like during a meal. I've finally gotten back into a set time for flash journaling, and what came out yesterday morning? The fact that I honestly believe the mother from Little House on the Prairie wouldn't wallow in bed while sick, and would probably rise to the occasion, say 'Oh, Charles,' whilst attending to the bear he's brought home for her to skin and butcher, and then would sew a few adorable outfits for her multiple kids out of cloth she's been storing away for the moment she got sick and couldn't be quite so industrious as usual.
Ok, maybe introspection plus cold meds are to blame. There was also a comparison of myself to one of those giant coral-eating parrot fish - you know the ones? Colorful, but huge and dumb looking and just kind of hanging around waiting for something to happen.
Tomorrow, whether I'm feeling better or not, I am going to exercise and write and do some dishes, and find a way to thank DH who has been taking care of me and working and shoveling snow and basically being an altogether better Caroline Ingalls than I could ever be.
Stupid gingham. Stupid bears.
Ok, maybe introspection plus cold meds are to blame. There was also a comparison of myself to one of those giant coral-eating parrot fish - you know the ones? Colorful, but huge and dumb looking and just kind of hanging around waiting for something to happen.
Tomorrow, whether I'm feeling better or not, I am going to exercise and write and do some dishes, and find a way to thank DH who has been taking care of me and working and shoveling snow and basically being an altogether better Caroline Ingalls than I could ever be.
Stupid gingham. Stupid bears.