|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Tuesday March 6, 2001
"Living is an illness to which sleep provides relief every sixteen hours. It's a pallative. The remedy is death." Nicolas-Sébastien Chamfort , Maximes et Penseés
the eiffel tower has become a minor addiction with me...fed by ebay (world's greatest trivia reseach tool)
|
|
in retreat My mother says I should go to the doctor. SuRu says to eat hot soup or hot sauce. Everyone says rest up. In order to rest my voice and let my cold heal in peace, I hide out in my home office. I e-mail FFP rather than talking. I e-mail my excuses to work. I try to work, but it makes my head hurt. At one point my parents drop by and peek in the door of my office. They look like they are doing well anyway. FFP gets burgers at Holiday House. I eat mine, but I don't feel much like eating. . So I spent the daylight hours sitting in front of my work machine or piddling with other stuff in here and the evening hours in front of the TV in the big room with soom papers. All the while swilling coffee and tea and taking Echinecea and stuff to clear my ears and voice. Heck, I think the congestion made my eyes fuzzy. People talk about getting something like this and being sick for three weeks. Not me. I can't do it. I must get better sooner. Just staying home is a big deal for me. One day. I wouldn't have done it, but I knew I'd get sicker if I didn't rest and rest my voice and not start coughing. Today reminded me of staying home sick as a kid. Having your mom wait on you while you were propped up on a bunch of pillows with books and stuff. My mom had that same look of concern when she peeked in here today. Ready to wait on me. Sure, the tables are turned sometimes now. But not always. She's seen my sister become more disabled than she is (although now it's sometimes a toss up) and the motherly instinct rises up, never mind that my sister and I are, at this point, old women ourselves. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
