It was one thing to murmur “What day is it?” during the fuzzy nobody-knows-what-day-it-is between Christmas and New Year’s Day.
It was actually a good time to be sick, in a way. No one was working, so there wasn’t an urgency for *me* to be working. In terms of getting sick when you’re self-employed, the timing was quite smart.
Except I didn’t know what day it was leading up to Christmas, either. Or now.
I felt yucky during my annual freelance Christmas party — which feels like a lifetime ago — and it only got worse.
That’s really saying something, too, since I was taken down by The Worst Stomach Virus I’ve Ever Had just the week before, and missed both kids’ Christmas concerts. Whomp, whomp.
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The kids had their Christmas concerts this week, and GUESS WHO MISSED THEM? 😭 I’ve been down and out with the worst stomach flu of my adult life, but thankfully my husband just happened to be off those exact days. 🙌 He even took this surprisingly Insta-worthy shot of C at her concert, in the poinsettia dress I’d thankfully sewn before sickness struck. Swipe to see D in his mom-made plaid shirt at his concert, andddd if you really want me to recover quickly you could head to the #linkinbio to read today’s post (also thankfully done well ahead of The Worst Flu Ever) about our family’s #maritimechristmas traditions. 🎄🎁🎅🏻 #ecmmedia
There was The Worst Stomach Virus and then The Terrible Head Cold, except the Terrible Head Cold never went away. It still hasn’t. Oh, what a time for my doctor to be on Christmas vacation. (And the idea of sitting at a walk-in with the kids in tow … I can’t finish the sentence. It makes me too tired.)
It’s left me in a permanently dazed, rumpled, half-awake state. My throat is always sore, and that’s when I’m taking Advil. (Without Advil, I cry when I swallow.) I want to stick icicles in my throbbing ears, which is a troubling visual — a new one for me. I flop around all night because my head hurts no matter which way I angle it on a pillow. Don’t get me started on the hacking cough, which makes my head feel like it’s going to explode.
The Christmas vacation is almost over, and it’s been a dreamy blur of huddling myself in quilts and moving from the bed to the couch to the armchair. On good days, I moved to the folding chair at my sewing machine and mindlessly made clothes while binge-watching Project Runway.
Much of the world is “back at ‘er” today, because it’s January 2 and the holidays are officially over. But sitting here at the desk is something I can’t do for more than a few minutes at a time. My Facebook feed is full of inspiring “18 for 2018” lists — resolutions and goals up the wazoo — and I can’t scroll for long without closing my eyes and listening to (yet another) audiobook.
V. sorry to start 2018 on such a complain-y note, dear readers. But this is where I’ve “been” over the break, and I’m really hoping to kick this sickness SOON. Maybe then I can join everyone in their excitement for a fresh new year with new opportunities.
Maybe then I can imagine a future where I wear something other than pyjamas — a future where I don’t startle myself every time I look at my pale, yellow-tinged face in the mirror.