I took today off to indulge the cold that's been attacking me since Tuesday. I should have stayed home yesterday, but I had to put out a few fires at work and make it relatively guilt-free to stay home today.
I love sick days. Ignore the congestion and general mental stupid/foggy brain and it's a great way to spend the day. When we were little, we had a Mom who veered toward the Mother Earth side of life. Meaning we never had sugar or candy or soda. Being sick meant we actually got 7-up and crackers! Best ever. The dark room, the quiet visit and the cool hand on my forehead, the pile of books and the cool fizz of pop in my face as I greedily drank it down--all mean I have a fond enjoyment of being ill.
This morning, I lay on the couch as the sun poured through the sliding glass doors. Against the painted brown wood of the balcony wall, the green leaves of my juniper bonsai glowed. In the diagonal strip of sun, Muttolah dozed in an acrobatic variety of contortions. At one point she lifted her head and half-sat up. She began panting while looking a little ill. "You ok, mutt?" I asked her. Panting, she turned her head and glanced at me, then sat there panting a little more, her black fur gleaming in the heat. "Get out of the sun, crazy dog," I laughed at her. She glanced at me again, then laid down with a happy sigh. Crazy Mutt! (Sorry, I do realize most of you are still deeply ensconsed in winter. I have to justify the Bay Area's cost of living with posts that remind me why it's theoretically worth it to live here.)
The phone rang numerous times. Clean the heater? Clean the carpet? Is this Wells Fargo? I almost didn't answer the fourth time. It was Jrex, so I'm glad I did. He picked me up for lunch. We were on our way to Stacks (home of American style breakfast and lunch) when we saw Sultana. Mmmm...Turkish food instead? Yes, please! He's in the midst of a month-long experiment where he has to inject mice twice a day. Yup. 30 days. Morning and evening. NO DAY OFF. Which meant my Valentine's Day was spent alone on a couch watching Ocean's 11. I was sick and brain-dead though, so that was fine with me. It was a wonderful surprise to go out for lunch. Don't worry, I coughed a bit and wore a scarf, I AM sick after all. This isn't just a mental health day...
I don't think that helped in any attempt to dissuade me from my love of sick days.
Do you have traditions/rituals that you do when you're sick? Memories of childhood illnesses? Do you hate being sick or enjoy it? My impression is that having kids means sickness is just pure torture with no room for self-indulgence, am I wrong? (lie to me, people!)