I barely coughed during my early meetings on Sunday, and I asked the brethren at welfare meeting to pray that I would be able to make it through the three-hour block (sacrament meeting, Sunday School, RS) and able to teach my lesson.
They did, and I was.
I came home and went straight to bed, first setting the alarm in case I slept all night. Hey, this is me; stranger things have happened. Slept until about 8:30 and was up for another three hours, during which I wrote a much-needed and long-delayed apology to an old friend. And then back to bed, apparently UNsetting the alarm, because I woke at 6:35 to way too much light in my room.
I almost made it onto my regular train, locking up Lorelai just as the TRE pulled out of the station. So I caught the next one, and I had a pretty good day at work, if you don’t count the sneezing and the collywobbles. I had a muffin and a pint of milk for breakfast. For the rest of the day, I nursed a 20-oz bottle of Coke over ice and practiced my race-walking. I am still apparently practicing for the 2012 Summer Olympics.
Stopped at a dear friend’s on the way home from the station; she had made me a small loaf pan of lasagna, which I heated up. I ate a couple of tablespoons (excellent!) and put the rest of it into the fridge and went to bed. I’m up again for a bit, mostly to rehydrate, though I’ve managed to eat a slice of toast and three bites from another one, which will soon join the lasagna in the fridge.
When I bob to the surface again, I will call in dead; I think this day will be a day for the BRAT diet, if and when I feel like eating. I have the bananas. I have the rice. I have the makings of toast. And I have one ginormous apple in the fridge, which at the rate of my current appetite may last me the rest of the week.
The good news is, I am coughing only occasionally and not as deeply as before, and the sinus which was plaguing me yesterday has apparently decided to stop making my head runneth over. I don’t feel sick-sick, as if this were from food poisoning or the flu, merely [ahem] explosive, and cold, and tired. I feel as if I had swallowed the 1812 Overture. Complete with cannons. [And not of the Pachelbel sort.]
Correction. We have just added toast-as-javelin-throw to our training program. Oye to the veh.
But I was not in the high rise where a shooting occurred yesterday in Dallas (Middlest texted me while I was on the train last night; CNN’s trailer alerted her, and she checked on me). So even if my body is revolting (there’s your straight line), I get to have another day on this lovely earth.
OK, time to brush my toofies and rinse out my poor, abused mouth and put the surviving toast in the fridge; the earlier slice is, well, toast.
Obviously, there will be no Knit Night tonight. But there may very well be knitting, and possibly some reading. But for now, let there be sleep, because I am feeling distinctly unRavelled.
- Four years into widowhood, after one year of incredible happiness and nearly 14 years of single blessedness. Have given up perfect manicures and pretty hands in order to resume playing the soprano recorder and to see if I can figure out how to play bluegrass banjo. Singing in the shower. Still really, *really* love to knit!