comfort and joy
I spent most of today in bed. I did not take medicine. I did not eat. I did not do anything, really, except sleep and pet my cat when she decided to stand on me. (Good old Fogg, always checking in on me).
I finally got up when Monkey came howling for food. Again. (Does that kitty child ever not want food?!). He was so full of joyful purrs to see see me get up, that I had to pick him up and share in his booping happiness. I swear we should have just named him Happy instead of Mumford. But his little lion man inspired name fits him well, too. Most days, I just call him Mao oo. Because that’s what he says to me, every day, all day long. My bubba loves to sing and has a lot to say. Always. Especially when food is supposed to be happening.
I feel like I’d be an awesome waitress after this time in my life is over.
I decided to try to eat something myself since my tummy stopped its horrible rumbling. It was just growling now.
It’s funny how you immediately become your parents when caring for someone who’s sick. Even yourself. What would Mama do? Plain toast. Sourdough. Check. Hot Lipton tea–I think I have some Salada–will that do? Honey–yay, massive gourmet honey stash. (She would judge me for that). Lemon. I have like 10 of those. I wish my ginger hadn’t dried up. I didn’t think yogurt would go so well. OOH, I bought jello. Crap, it’s not made. OOH, I have a lunch pack. Cherry. Yes.
And that was breakfast, lunch, and dinner for the day–in one meal.
Rilly decided to jump on me, boop me, smile, and run off. Yes–he smiles. With teeth and everything. A drive-by lovin from my favorite hard to get man. Don’t tell J he loves me more.
I still have a fever. Still have a headache. The sinus/allergy symptoms are worse, but tolerable. But I don’t feel dizzy anymore, and I don’t feel like I’m about to die. So, that’s a plus. The soaking wet washcloth worked! Food stayed down. Yay.
I thought about going outside. Fresh air always helps me, but I may still be a little too weak for that noise. Think I’ll go back to bed and finish the ghosty-show I passed out watching earlier.
I hate being sick. Like despise it. But I hate being sick around other people, even more. I’m not a good sick person, though I am a good patient. I’m bad at letting others help me, but very appreciative when they do. Still, I whine and groan and hate life. Most of the time, if I can work through it, I will. But I’ve learned to recognize my limits and to also let people know I’m out for the count. It was nice that friends offered to bring me care packages. It’s odd how just knowing people want you to feel better makes you feel better.
I don’t often get a day in bed. Especially not lately, living alone. There’s always responsibilities. So, to be asleep for most of the day is oddly comforting. I’m learning, slowly, the joys of self-care. And that I desperately need more of it.
I think it’s no coincidence that I’m getting sick this week. The anniversary of my father’s death is Friday. Mama’s birthday is next Wednesday. It marks the beginning of so many suckerpunches. I feel like I always get really sick right before–only I usually don’t complain or stop. I usually just keep going and never let anyone know.
I decided a couple weeks ago to use my last free vacation day for my Mama’s birthday. I’ve thought about doing something that day–maybe driving somewhere–but part of me thinks I should just do a whole lot of self-care. Do all the things my mother never did for herself.
In any case, being sick makes me nostalgic and emotional. But this year, it’s more of a gratefulness than sadness. There is some there, of course, like always–but it feels closer to joy and more comforting than painful.
It’s supporting me in making a hard decision about someone in my life who just doesn’t deserve to be in it anymore. I’m choosing people I can be grateful for and releasing those who bring me pain and suffering.