I took a sick day today, because my sinus mucosa was operating on hyperdrive, which apparently migrated into my chest cavity, inspiring the kind of sneezing & coughing that, if harnessed as raw energy could probably heat this house for a week. To add to that, any attempt at speaking simply sounded like a sad sound effect for my froggy pajamas, whose wrinkles evidenced the toss-&-turn attempts I’d made at sleep the night before.
So I made soup, ordered “plenty of fluids” from the deli, and watched two movies, which still left me enough time for copious amounts of introspection. And a surprise get-well-soon guest. And now, after a hot shower, clean sheets & pjams, and more good soup in front of Law & Order . . . I can’t seem to fall asleep. Today was everything a sick day is supposed to be, and I’m legitimately sick. So why do I feel guilty?