I had a good, productive day yesterday.
I put in a good eight hours of writing, editing, and bookkeeping. Rounded out by necessary phone calls and Emails. I took the dogs and myself for a one-hour walk. I picked up a few groceries, then met three of my cousins for “Happy Hour.” On m way home, I stopped at Aunt Katie’s for a final “good-bye” to my cousin, Keith, who is leaving this morning, and to pick up some tomatoes, to process for the freezer. I was home before eight o’clock, in bed before ten.
This morning, I am miserable. My back hurts; my head hurts; my stomach is roiling. Though I arranged to have this morning off to finish up a few last minute items, I have yet to accomplish anything. I’ve taken three ibuprofen tablets, and am now nibbling on a piece of bread to try to settle my stomach. I don’t want to be sick!
I can’t afford to be sick. I need to get in all the work for pay that I can. I don’t have time to be sick. I have put off, delayed and procrastinated on other responsibilities until the eleventh hour. That hour is here. There is no pleasure in illness. I remember, in the ancient archives of my life, being tucked under covers, given a warm, soothing drink and having my forehead rubbed. No matter how miserable I felt, there was comfort there. In my life today, misery is just that, nothing more.
I refuse to be sick!
