So, illness. Doesn’t happen often to me, I have the constitution and the subtle nature of a plank of wood. However, every so often I’m reminded that I am a biological entity like everyone else and I get sick. By ‘so often’, I mean every ten years or so. This is the week in question; my sinuses are all infected and it’s in my lungs, and the reduced lung capacity has made me weak. So I have been off work all this week. The last time I had so much time to myself I was on maternity leave, and that was at such a high pitch of fear there was no chance of rest; merely sitting there squawking my arms like the fat hen I was.
Being ill is strange to me. Most of the time a night’s sleep or a big meal means the energy is back again and off we go. But this time, no immediate efforts made things better. I’ve been asleep for the better part of a week and I am only getting back to myself. Strange, to have to listen to what my metabolism is saying to me. The eyes in the mirror look weird.
So that’s been my week. No work done at home or at … work, no writing and no editing. But there was no choice, I’m forced to admit. There was nothing I could do, I had to do nothing. C’est la vie.