When I started this blog I had this illusion that I would bring illumination and poetry to the human condition. Instead, I have opened a vein today to unleash a river of whining about my minor cold. Today's whine? Not only am I still sick, but I'm actually even sicker than I was yesterday. My fever is up another half-degree and my lungs and throat feel even worse.
This is clearly unfair and wrong. I only worked a half-day from home yesterday and then I semi-napped the afternoon and evening away in front of the television. I even submitted myself to the movie Convoy on the grounds that nary a neuron would be disturbed. And yet today, I am sicker!
I am genuinely mad about this. Really furious. And I am this mad even though I know intellectually that there is little to be done about it, other than to grab a blanket and a book and the remote control and ride it out on the couch. I know from long experience that I will get better sooner if I treat myself well for a couple of days, and I also know that I'm generally not competent anyway when I'm wandering around with a fever. I shan't tell the story of how I nearly melted two pots in my attempt to make a cup of tea this morning, but rest assured it was enough to convince me that I am not currently competent.
It's just that I have a lot of stuff that needs to be done this week so that Monique and I can go on vacation Friday morning. And I have thus far accomplished almost none of it. And I'm pretty sure I won't get much more done tomorrow, since I'll have two days of undone work waiting for me, and a village council meeting afterwards.
I find this is my reaction more and more often when I get sick. I don't even bother to wallow in self-pity and instead move straight to fury. I just hope that it's helping with the recovery.
Mind you, I'd be quite enjoying my sick day if I weren't so mad. I have a good book, and a sweet little beagle to keep me company on the couch. But man, this isn't the week I would've chosen to come down with the crud. Bleah! Bleah!! Bleah!!!